Judging A Book xNot All Books Should Be Readx
by InChrist-Billios
Summary: Lilliana is an avid reader who loves to escape her stuffy routine by freeing her mind in tales of lands far away. One day, she finds a book too good to put down, and gets perhaps more than she bargained for. :Sequel to Not All Surprises Are Pleasant:
1. And So It Begins

**Ta da! Here is Nasap's sequel, "Not All Books Should Be Read" which I shall affectionately call Jab, because it was first called "Judging a Book" and now I've gotten used to calling it that.**

**For this story, I am starting off every chapter with a quote from another fanfic that at least has something to do with the chapter. It sounded like an interesting idea, so I ran with it --smile--**

**This chapter is also dedicated to SIMBA's sanity -- in hopes that it shall be retained while dealing with two irritable people in a house where the AC is broken.**

* * *

"_You haven't seen the last of me!" Claudius snarled as the guards dragged him away. "I shall be the curse of your children and their children for generations!"_

_Ryan watched, his mouth a pinched line. Lauren laced her fingers through his and smiled comfortingly._

"_Don't listen to him. What harm can he do locked in a jail cell?"_

"_None, I suppose," he said with a small smile._

"_You worry too much. Relax, would you? We'll be safe as long as we're together."_

_Ryan looked sidelong at the woman beside him and ran his fingers through her hair._

"_You're right, as usual," he breathed, leaning forward and—_

Lilliana groaned, snapping the book shut loudly.

"Great story, until the mushy ending. Now I must find a new book without one," she muttered crossly, sliding the book underneath her bed. "Dumb romance, it messes up all the good stories. It should be banned."

Thus was the proclamation of Lilliana Tiroe, Crown Princess of Berensia. Unfortunately for her, no royal scribe was there to record it, so it wasn't official.

* * *

Lilliana stood on the top of the ladder, shifting her weight expertly to keep from falling as she stretched her short fingers toward the spine of the book. The unassuming maroon cover inlaid with patterns of gold blended in well with the surrounding high-class books, but it caught Lilliana's eye so she was determined to get it.

She carefully stood on tiptoe, reaching a little farther with the practiced air of one who does this sort of thing often. The threat of a seven foot fall meant nothing to the single minded eleven year old princess as she bit the end of her tongue in concentration and poked the bottom corner of the book. It moved.

Smiling, she pushed harder, shoving the bottom of the book backward which threw off its balance, causing it to tumble from the shelf. Lilliana snatched it out of the air, then lost her footing and fell backward off the ladder with a scream.

She hugged the book to her chest, eyes closed and bracing herself for the impact. Instead of stone, however, she hit a pair of sturdy arms.

"Why hello, Princess Lilliana," the young voice said seriously, disguising an irrepressible laugh.

Lilliana peeled her eyes open to behold Aberforth's smiling face. The messenger set her down carefully on the stone and bowed.

"Hello, Abe, and thank you ever much for catching me," Lilliana said, also serious, but having a hard time quelling her giggles.

"The pleasure is singularly mine, your majesty," he said, kneeling and kissing her hand.

"Rise, good subject. Come, I have need of an escort to my chambers."

She checked the title of the book she had just acquired and groaned softly. _"The Many Cures for Fairy Curses"_ Why was it with the fictional works? Abe offered his elbow and Lilliana took it, setting the book on a table as they passed. She would find a different book another day.

They walked with great to-do from the library to her chamber, idly talking of things nobles would discuss. Nre watched the pair pass her study, calmly conversing on the matter of Abe's cousins, and rolled her eyes. Acting again.

Lilliana and Abe were always acting like someone; most of the time he took on the role of a noble – which was helping Lilliana apply her etiquette lessons – but occasionally they were heroes and villains from Lilliana's most recent book.

Whenever Ceilear or Stephen was about, (Lilliana's sister and Sarah's son) they would join the fun. The quartet was often seen romping around the palace hallways in extravagant outfits, laughing and chasing each other.

Nre listened to their fading voices, continuing her letter to Princess Iriana, Cameron's younger sister who was now heir to the Grendathian throne.

… _but how are you, dear? Your last letter seemed harried and there was hardly any mention of you at all. You might be in need of a vacation from palace life. Enjoy life a little, before you're queen and can hardly escape!_

_I'm sure you could convince your parents to let you visit us here, at least under pretense of the Annual Berensian Royalty ball, which is to be held in two weeks' time. It's mostly a cover for some sort of peace-ball for the recent disagreements we've been having with Trule, but it should still be fun, and you don't have to worry about that. I know this is short notice, but really, Iriana, I think you need a break._

_Let me know your decision as soon as you can._

_All my love,_

_Nre_

Carvin entered as she folded up the letter, shaking his head in resignation.

"If only she would act like that in public!" he moaned, rubbing his tired eyes. "Then negotiation wouldn't be so difficult."

"Negotiation?" Nre said, narrowing her eyes against the insinuation of that statement.

Carvin noticed her undertone and quickly clarified himself.

"Not _marriage_, Nre, good heavens! No, Alphonse and I are having trouble making agreements with countries who believe the future queen of Berensia will be an uncontrollable troublemaker too smart for her own good."

"If only Alphonse had children," Nre sighed.

"But alas, he does not," Carvin agreed, sitting across the desk from his wife and taking her hand. "So the lot falls to us, then Linna. If only she would _behave_, we would not have this trouble."

They lapsed into silence, mulling over possible courses of action for what felt like the thousandth time. Carvin absently rubbed his thumb on Nre's hand. Then, he had an epiphany.

"Reading!" he declared. "She shan't be allowed to read!"

Nre was horrorstruck.

"Carvin, no! Reading is knowledge! Reading is imagination! Reading is – "

" – one of her favorite things to do," he interrupted, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "If we just take it away until after the upcoming ball, warning her that if she doesn't act right she won't get the privilege back, then I think that would teach her a sound lesson. What have you to say on that?"

He looked apprehensive. Nre opened her mouth and closed it twice before she swallowed and tried again.

"I do not like it, but I believe you are right."

Carvin was relieved.

"Good, I could not have done it without your approval."

"You tell her," Nre said firmly.

Carvin winced.

* * *

"I WILL NEVER OPEN THIS DOOR AS LONG AS I SHALL LIVE!"

"Linna, please listen to me."

"LEAVE ME ALONE TO DIE OF MISERY!"

"Linna…"

"I SHALL WALLOW IN THE PIT OF MY DISMAL EXISTENCE UNTIL I AM SMOTHERED BY THE EXTENT OF MY DESPAAAAAAIR!"

Carvin gave up trying to reason with her and walked away, listening with worry to the overdramatic howls of his eldest daughter. Abe, carrying a tall stack of books that had been recovered from Lilliana's room, fell into step with him.

"Don't worry, your highness," he said brightly. "She's just pitching a fit. She'll be right as rain after a few days."

Carvin smiled weakly.

* * *

**Final word count: 1135**

**Thank you, if you have gotten this far! Please push that little button down there; I'll hand out beginning-of-fic Drumstiks (you know, the ice cream kind, not the chicken kind)**

**EDIT: Thank you **Cimh** for helping me reword a sentence!  
**


	2. Flashbacks and Introductions

**Hey all!**

**I'll be updating just about once a week, to give you all a heads' up. I'm giving **Lobuck Ashbreeze** time to finish her story (which, consequently, has info that ties in a bit here). It's a story about all the trouble Faidn gets himself into after Nasap is over with, and it's ace. As soon as she publishes it, I will be blatantly advertising it everywhere, much to her chagrin, to be sure.**

**Oh yes, by the way, I highly recommend it for reading. --wink--**

* * *

"Rose." 

The woman sat on a cool marble bench, leaning against the rough wall of the castle. A dark green book was held firmly in her grip and her eyes were racing across the lines of script. She didn't appear to be reading, but looking for something.

"Rose?"

She turned the page, her light brown hair escaping its holding place behind her ear. She pushed it back absently, her whole mind focused on her task.

"Derwin, Derwin, Derwin," she muttered, biting her lip.

"Rose!"

She jumped when the voice shouted in her ear.

"Who in the blazes – STEPHEN DANNLIN McCRAW!"

Stephen danced just out of her reach, laughing uproariously.

"Mommawantsyouinthekitchen!" he said very fast and then turned around and sprinted through the garden.

Rose clenched her fists and growled in frustration.

"Just like your blasted father! No appreciation of my right to be undisturbed! I lost my place!" she murmured angrily, picking up the book from where it had fallen in the grass.

She stared at the front cover for a moment, her face creasing in worry, then tucked it under her arm and went into the palace_  
_

* * *

_Knock knock._

Lilliana threw her old stuffed horse at the door without looking away from the window.

"Go away! Can't you just leave me in peace so I can die?!"

"For the love of brandy, Linna, it's just Stephen!" said the taken-aback voice from the other side of the door.

"Oh, very well then," Lilliana said, cheering up considerably. "Come in."

Stephen opened the door and stuck his head in, jovial face serious as he warily searched for more projectiles.

"Is it safe?" he whispered in mock fear.

"You won't be safe when your mum hears what you just said," Lilliana pointed out, scooting to a sitting position on her bed. "'For the love of brandy,' Stephen? Honestly."

"Ah, probably true," he said, plopping down next to her and drawing his knees up to underneath his chin. "So, no books, I hear, until you prove yourself a noble citizen."

"Yeah," Lilliana glowered.

"Don't say 'yeah'; that's not polite," he chided, not dodging in time to escape Lilliana's thump on the head.

He, in turn, punched her arm and the girl retaliated with a blow to the stomach. The tussle lasted a few more seconds before Lilliana let Stephen have the last swipe and she looked at a clock.

"I have got to get to etiquette now," she sighed.

"I thought you weren't leaving," Stephen teased.

"The only way I'll get my books back is by being a perfect princess," she said. "I'm not stupid. I'll throw a fit when I don't have to be anywhere, but I'll do just what they want. That will frustrate them, and then we both win."

Stephen rolled his eyes.

"Allow me to escort you, milady."

"Absolutely not," Lilliana said firmly. "The last time I allowed that, we ended up sliding into my lesson in a heap and without shoes. Miss Huggins lectured me for a whole hour on appearance and propriety."

She shuddered in remembrance. _"Never act any way that you don't want the whole world to know about! Think about the rumors – the princess cavorting with a common servant!"_

"_He is not a common servant!" Lilliana said loudly. She had been silent for the whole lecture, realizing that she deserved it for the most part, but she thought that insulting Stephen was a rather low blow._

"_I read the stories, Miss Huggins, and his mother and father are heroes! They just didn't want to be nobles."_

"_And a fine disgrace to the highnesses' favor that was," Miss Huggins sniffed._

_Lilliana threw herself on the teacher, howling and punching the young lady right in the eye._

"_Don't insult them, d'you hear me? NEVER INSULT MY FRIENDS!"_

"I was put on restriction for three weeks," she remembered.

"I still think that was a bit harsh for just having a bit of fun," Stephen commented.

She shrugged noncommittally and walked toward the door. Stephen opened it with a bow.

"Thank you," she observed.

"The very least I could do," he said humbly.

Lilliana rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue while Stephen laughed.

* * *

_Nre,_

_I would love to visit you! My parents have reluctantly agreed to let me attend your ball, heavens be thanked. I have arranged to arrive on the 3__rd__, will that suffice? And what kind of dresses should I bring – what type of ball is it? I don't want to be overdressed._

_Thank you sincerely for your concern; your worries are not unfounded. My parents have been thrusting more responsibilities upon me in preparation for my coronation in two years, in hopes that I would gradually become accustomed to them. Unfortunately, they are only succeeding in frustrating and confusing me. I dearly need a break; maybe the Berensian air will clear my head?_

_How are your charming children? I am sure you won't be pleased to hear this, but it is better that you hear it from me than a snooty noble, I should think. Rumors of Lilliana's escapades have reached even to our fair kingdom. I must ask, however – did she really set a cat loose on the refreshment table during your last ball? Our representatives tut tutted, but I think it's brilliant. Your lovely lady has spunk!_

_And what of Ceilear and Mittlan? Ceilear is a gem! I only hope, for your sakes, that she will be more softspoken than her sister. And Mittlan is four, so the most we can expect from him is an adorable laugh, yes? I cannot contain my excitement at seeing you all, and especially the children!_

_Oh, yes, what has become of dear Stephen? The last time I saw him he was deftly assisting Lilliana with unscrewing the wheels of my carriage. I trust he has grown up to be much the same, only handsomer? He looks like his mother, how could he not? Haha!_

_With much excitement,_

_Iriana_

The princess sealed the envelope with a kiss before dripping the wax on and pressing her ring against it, leaving the royal crest emblazoned on the ocean blue wax.

"Clayton, to the Princess Nre," she instructed, handing the letter to a man who stood at attention by her door.

Clayton bowed and took the letter from her hand, leaving the room in a soundless swish of fabric.

Iriana sighed and examined her hands, excitement bubbling up within her. She was going to see Nre!

Her fingers were slender and smooth, evidence of her royal upbringing. With a frown, she balled her hands up, hiding the offending fingers, and reverted her thoughts to her upcoming trip.

She had last seen Nre and Carvin three years ago, when Mittlan was still a dimpled angel, Ceilear was a shy four year old in a poofy white dress, and Lilliana was a restless eight year old. How she dearly loved children! She was often found cavorting with the servant's children, much to her parents' chagrin. She couldn't resist their inventive minds and ever-present smiles.

Her mind went, unbidden, to her first occasion to meet Nre; at Cameron's funeral.

"_Excuse me, your highness," a soft voice said._

_Iriana looked up, furious that someone had discovered her in a moment of weakness. Tears still glimmered on her cheeks. A brown haired girl perhaps a few years older than she stood before her, dressed luxuriously in a silk and taffeta dress of rich black with silver accents._

"_Thank you for coming," she said in a practiced and steady voice, lowering her eyes to the girl's hands._

"_It was the least I could do," the girl whispered, her own voice trembling._

_Iriana looked up sharply, trying to recognize the face._

"_Who—?"_

"_I am Nre," she said, looking into her eyes. "Do you remember me?"_

_Nre! Princess of Berensia! The one her brother –_

_Her expression hardened._

"_I understand if you hate me," Nre said, her voice resigned and grief-stricken. "But I felt I could not come to the funeral without meeting you once more and apologizing. I feel at least partially responsible for Cameron's... death. If it hadn't been for me, he would have stayed safely at home."_

_Iriana felt like yelling and raging at this girl who stole her brother away, but she calmed her temper and replied sensibly._

"_You did not ask him to come," she said, looking away from Nre's gaze. "It is not your fault."_

"_But I still feel like it is, and so do you," Nre said bluntly. "No matter how nonsensical it is, I still feel responsible."_

"_And you are!" Iriana said, before she could stop it._

_Nre flinched slightly, but did not look surprised._

"_If you hadn't – hadn't seduced him, he would not have lost his head trying to _rescue_ you from a danger that did not exist! If he hadn't been so smitten by you, he would have realized that there were better ways! You messed up his mind!"_

"_I did not seduce him!" Nre retorted hotly, a flush rising on her cheekbones. "How dare you accuse me of such a disgrace!"_

"_The fact remains that it is your fault!"_

"_He is the one who decided to rescue me!"_

"_Only because his mind was clouded with thoughts of love for you!"_

_They stared angrily at each other, fists behind them. People peeked into the room, but when they saw the confrontation, slipped away hastily. They were both shaking with rage._

_Then, without warning, they both began to cry, tears flowing down their carefully painted faces and running into the dresses. Before they quite knew what was happening, they were embracing and mumbling apologies through their tears._

"_I know you didn't seduce him – "_

"_I knew you didn't mean it – "_

"_He was a brave man – "_

"_He fought till the end – "_

_Long blonde hair tumbled together with short brown, pale skin with tanned, and smooth hands clasped rough ones as two broken hearts helped each other to mend._

* * *

**Final word count: 1660**

**I hope you enjoyed this rather... spaced out chapter. --face-- I really wanted that Nre-Iriana scene in, though; it gives a deeper basis for their friendship. But was it too much? Two flashbacks in one chapter? Comments and criticism is appreciated, please!**

**If you review I'll give you a Dr. Pepper-strawberry-ice-cream-chocolate-syrup**** float!**

**--dodges full glasses of concoction that were lobbed at head--**

**Well, erm, I like it, anyway. Howabout a Root Beer float, then?  
**


	3. Iriana's Arrival

**This one is fairly long, for one of MY chapters. It's also a pretty fun one, in my opinion. And we have a special guest arriving too...**

* * *

"Please!" she begged, to the point of groveling on her knees, no matter how much damage that would invoke on her daffodil yellow, outrageously ornate dress that her Nana had stuffed her in to spite her. 

"I'm sorry, milady,, but your father gave me a direct order," Gered said apologetically, standing firmly in front of the library doors.

She had tried everything from ordering the servant out of her path, to bribing him with money she had leftover from her last 'shopping trip' in town (it was quite an amount, make no mistake), but still the infuriating man would not budge.

"Father doesn't have to know?" she tried hopefully.

"Lilliana!" Gered said sharply.

"You don't know what this is doing to me!" Lilliana wailed.

Then, she was struck with inspiration.

"May I _walk_ into the library with you and _look_ at the books?"

Gered frowned. Lilliana stared, wondering not for the first time if telepathy existed as she frantically thought _yesyesyesyesyes!_

After a few moments, he couldn't seem to find anything directly wrong with her request. His majesty had said, after all, to make it his mission to be sure she did not touch a book. If she was with him... well, that seemed safe. Enough.

"I suppose that could be permitted," he said slowly. "Come in."

Lilliana beamed, then remembered her manners and curtsied deeply.

"I am forever indebted to you, Gered."

He nodded his reply and opened the door, holding out his hand. Lilliana gracefully laid hers in his and they walked in together. She breathed in the old, dry smell of books and it made her heart race. All these volumes, more than half of them she had never read!

She tipped her head up, meandering her eyes over the multicolored spines at the top of the wall, then closed her eyes. She could almost hear them all whispering their stories, like muted vendors at a marketplace.

"Milady?"

She opened her eyes again and moved forward, down her favorite row of books. She immediately sought out her most read. _The Man Who Wandered; Heart of a Dragon; Prince in Disguise – _but there, next to _Raptured Souls_ – what was that?

Her eyebrows knit together in curiosity and she tilted her head sideways to see the title. _The Adventures of the Tyra_. On either side of the title, small pictures graced the forest green spine. One of two men and women on horseback, and the other of a laughing, evil looking man holding aloft a golden pendant.

The pictures drew in Lilliana's imagination. She could already see the four as they charged across a field at full gallop, trying to outrace the laughing man as they ever nearer to a castle. But then, the man pulled out a bow and -- "Milady, keep walking, please," Gered interrupted.

She drew her hand back and shook her head, then, with one more curious glance, she kept walking.

* * *

Sweaty and dirty from her work in the gardens, Rose ran through the castle halls in the direction of her chambers, eager for a bath. When she arrived, she reached automatically onto the table, where she had put the book down earlier. Her fingers swept across the empty table, clutching at nothing. Her eyes widened and she looked under the table. 

Nothing.

Bath utterly forgotten, she ransacked the piles on her counter, then dashed into the living room and ran her hands over everything, checking underneath chairs and unpacking a crate, leaving the mess strewn over the floor. Breathing heavily with panic, she raced into her bedroom and threw off the covers of her bed, checked the nightstand, and knocked over two chairs.

She collapsed hard on her knees in the middle of the floor, heart pumping feverishly. _No one else can have that book. Where did it go? Who took it? No, no one could have taken it. It must be here. I have to find it!_

She dragged herself to her feet and began to re-search everything. She was going through her crate for a third time when Stephen opened the door to find his honorary Aunt on her knees with her head in a box, wearing a dirt striped ragged outfit.

"Wow, Auntie," he said in awe. "You've really lost it."

Rose pulled her head out of the box in a hurry, banging it on the top.

"Have you seen my book, Stephen? The one I've been reading lately?"

"The green one?" he asked, a sly smile beginning to form on his face.

Rose was standing over him in a blink.

"Stephen Dannlin McCraw, I swear if you do not give me that book back I will tan your hide clean off!"

Her voice was low and threatening, and Stephen was almost intimidated.

"I think you've been reading it too much," he said, backing out of reach. "You should spend some more time with us."

"Stephen, I am completely serious when I say you will rue the day you took that book from me!" she said, her eyes wild. "Give it back!"

Stephen took this as a cue to run away before Rose resorted to disciplinary tactics. So, with one last grin, he bolted. Rose put up a hard chase, but in the end, he was faster. She was left panting in the middle of the courtyard, shaking with anger and fear.

_Not now. Not when I'm so close... What if he reads it?_

All the possibilities of that thought overwhelmed her and she almost cried for the first time since she was very young.

* * *

"Princess?" 

Iriana jerked awake, rubbing her eyes.

"Yes, Clayton?"

"We have arrived," the man said, hiding an affectionate smile and gesturing out the window.

Iriana yanked the curtain on her half of the window aside, blinking in the dazzling light. They stopped in front of the Morning Glory gate and Iriana, on impulse, stood on her seat and stuck her entire torso out the spacious window.

"Princess Iriana Braxton of Grendin coming for the royal ball!" she shouted happily, before the startled driver announced them. "Now, let me in before I climb over the gate!"

The soldiers on the ramparts laughed and swung the gates open. Iriana waved gleefully at them as they passed, then slid back inside the carriage, flushing with excitement.

"Milady, you really shouldn't – " Clayton began, but Iriana hushed him good-naturedly, smoothing her hair and dress.

"Come now, I shall be permitted to have a fun time every once in a while. Don't tell my parents. How do I look? Still royal?"

Clayton leaned forward and pulled a leaf from the blonde curls.

"There; beautiful, as always."

"You flatter me," she said, watching the front doors grow larger, along with the line of people waiting for her. "As you always have. It's a wonder I don't think myself the loveliest woman alive from all your flattering comments."

"Well, you might finally see reason then."

"Clayton..."

He smiled.

"Stephen! Come here at once!" Dannlin called into the stable.

"What for?" the muffled impudent voice said, possibly from the hayloft.

"Nre said Princess Iriana wants you to meet her, and she's about to arrive."

"Iriana!" the boy said enthusiastically, leaping from the loft into a pile of hay and tumbling down to rest at his father's feet. He was standing in an instant and latched onto his father's hand, ignoring his father's laughing and head shaking at his behavior.

"Come _on_!" he said, dragging him at a half run through the stable and the palace hallways beyond.

"Wait! You look like an... urchin or something!" Dannlin said, still laughing and trying to brush the hay and dirt from his son's clothing with his free hand.

"Dad, stop it!" he yelled, letting go of his hand and darting away faster. "I am an urchin or something! She won't care, anyway!"

Dannlin just shook his head again and slowed to a jog.

Stephen heard the clip-clop of the horse's hooves even before he slammed through the giant doors leading to the courtyard. He checked his wild run to fall last in the perfect line – next to Ceilear.

"You're late," Ceilear whispered around the holes in her mouth. "Thee'th jutht arrived, and you have thtraw all over you."

"I know it, hush," he said, standing quite properly as the sunny-faced princess stepped down from her carriage, aided by the footman.

"Princess Iriana," Alphonse said warmly, kissing her hand.

"Your highness, she replied courteously. "You look well."

"As do you."

"How lovely to have you, dear," Marlita said with a smile and a curtsy.

"I am thrilled to be here," Iriana replied with a curtsy of her own.

"You do look radiant," Carvin observed, also kissing her hand.

"I can feel myself positively glowing with happiness, thank you, Carvin."

Nre smiled at her, but her eyes were scanning the princess with a look of apprehension. Iriana was certainly radiant now, but she looked like she had lost some weight she did not need to lose, and had far too many fine lines around the eyes for a woman in the bloom of beauty.

"You look divine, Nre," Iriana said pointedly, correctly interpreting Nre's faltering smile.

"It is so nice to have you here," Nre said truthfully, catching Iriana's eyes in a manner that clearly said _Why didn't you tell me about this?_

Iriana's eyes replied quite clearly back, an expression of guilty anxiety.

_I knew what you would say and I didn't want to hear it._

Four year old Mittlan clung tightly to his mother's dress, watching the exchange with big blue eyes.

"Mittlan," Nre urged.

"I am pleas-ed to meet you, Princess Eerana," he said, and bowed somewhat clumsily, but obviously well-practiced.

"And I am very pleased to meet you, young Prince Mittlan."

She held a gloved hand to the side of her mouth, as if divulging a secret, and whispered.

"I think you and I will be great friends."

Mittlan grinned. _Oh, he will be a heartthrob._

"Lilliana, we meet again," she said gravely, her grey-blue eyes flashing steely in the midmorning sun.

"Indeed," Lilliana said, her voice equally polite, though edged in hostility.

Nre looked at them in anxious surprise. Hadn't they gotten along swimmingly last time?

Then both girls smiled at once and they clasped hands briefly.

"You have been practicing, then. Excellent work. And oh, how is my little songbird?"

Ceilear smiled gappily.

"Good, but I thang tho good all my theeth'th fell out."

Iriana laughed, then turned to Stephen who was grinning broadly, straw sticking out at odd angles like a grassy porcupine. Dust and grime tainted his face a darker brown, but for the paths sweat had made as it tricked down.

"Hello, Stephen."

"Hullo, Princess," he said, bowing regally, a comic picture, given his present dishevelty. "I would kiss your hand, but I would soil it."

"That you would," Iriana agreed. "I suppose you shall have to make up for it by showing me what new horses have arrived since last we met."

"Follow me!" he said. "You coming, Linna?"

"History," she scowled, going inside with her sister, back to the lesson they had been pulled from to greet Iriana. "Sorry."

Just then, Rose and Sarah entered the courtyard from the garden, immersed in a discussion. Well, Sarah was immersed. Rose looked like she wasn't listening.

"Yikes!" Stephen yelped, ducking behind Iriana's poofy, pale green dress. "Quick! We'll go through the palace!" he whispered urgently, dashing inside before Rose saw him.

Rose, however, had other things on her mind, such as saving Sarah from a galloping horse. She snapped out of her reverie in time to shout, "Watch it!" and pull Sarah violently backward, just out of the path of the horse and rider. The stirrup just grazed her cheek.

"Who in the name of peace is chasing you, lad!" Sarah shouted at the lanky man riding.

The man in question dismounted gracefully and bowed with a flourish to the irate woman.

"No one in the name of peace, I assure you," he quipped, green eyes twinkling.

"Ooh, Faidn!" Sarah cried, hugging him fiercely. "Or, rather, General, I suppose. Did you come for the ball? I had no idea you were coming!"

"Yes, I did, and I sorry you didn't know – I only just recently convinced myself to come. The larger bother was convincing the troops that I didn't need bodyguards. Hallo, Rose."

"Afternoon," she said with the preoccupied smile that had graced her features so often lately.

"Faidn! You did come!"

The man was tackled by a brief, but powerful hug from his best friend who was beaming ear to ear, all royal pretense forgotten.

"I trust your trip was well?" Nre said in a much more calm manner, having walked up behind Carvin.

"How could it not, with such a delightful destination? But who's just arrived with the fancy to-do of a carriage?"

"Princess Iriana of Grendin," Sarah supplied.

No one noticed Rose slip away.

"Ah. Royalty. Yes, I forgot they would be coming too, of course."

"Naturally," Carvin said, making a face when Nre wasn't looking.

"I would call the children out to greet you," Nre said regretfully, "but their classes have already been interrupted once today, so you wouldn't mind seeing them, and Princess Iriana, at luncheon, would you?"

"Of course not. How could I interrupt such a noble task as educating children?"

"Easily," Carvin mouthed.

"Well then," Nre said, businesslike, "you had better get cleaned up. Luncheon is in forty minutes."

"Yes, do; the princess wants to meet the handsome soldier under all the road dust!" Sarah shouted after him as he jogged into the palace, heading to his normal room with his pack on his back. Faidn threw them a salute without turning around.

* * *

**Final word count: 2,284**

FaylinnNorse: **Oh good, I'm glad you liked it. And to answer your question, Iriana is supposed to be long about twenty-five or twenty-six. She acts younger because she's used to being the "little sister" who got away with everything and was doted on her whole life, and now she's expected to grow up and take responsibility, which she's having trouble with. Derwin is fantastic, I can't wait for you to meet him!**

Celestial Starlight: **Two votes 'yeah', so I suppose that wasn't overdoing it. --wipes brow--**

Cimh: **The final flashback wasn't meant to confusing. Whoops. Well, I'm glad you liked the Root Beer float, anyhow.**

Haven Linn: **Haha, yes, Stephen is great.**

Emma A. Piper: **1) Stephen is ten. Abe is around seventeen or eighteen, probably. 2) Ahem. Question answered ;)**

**How was Faidn's arrival? Rose's desperation? Are you annoyed at all the hints without answers? Tell me! Good bad or otherwise, I want to hear your opinions (and speculation!)**

**REVIEW and I'll give you some of that new Mountain Dew. It doesn't taste too bad, for Mountain Dew (I hate the stuff. Ick.)**

**_IMPORTANT EDIT: I have decided to put this story on hiatus. No, I'm not kidding. Sorry everyone, but I decided that another story should probably go first in the sequence of things. I'll post the first chapter of that within a few days -- after FF gets the alerts working again so people will see this. Sorry everyone; I hope you decide to read the other one in spite of my nastiness. I posted this one prematurely, and I shouldn't have. I apologize. The other story will only take a few months, in all seriousness, so Jab will be back in action fairly soon._  
**


	4. Old Ladies

**12 . 8 . 08**

**Three chapters in to the story, it gets put on Hiatus for 4 days shy of a year. Is anyone even reading this, I wonder? --sigh-- Well, if you are, this chapter is dedicated to you. **

**You might want to reread the chapters up to this point, so you're not confused.**

**Disclaimer: Faidn's older personality is due to the brilliance of **Lobuck**. She's masterminding and fantastically writing HIS story – what happened to him post-Nasap. Read it! (A Soldier At His Own Expense) Yes, she takes a long time to update. No, she hasn't abandoned it.**

* * *

Faidn's impression of Iriana after lunch was that she loved children, somewhat disliked being a princess (though she took many benefits of her station quite for granted), was startlingly beautiful, but looked a little sickly, and giggled far too often to be tolerated for long periods of time.

_Perhaps it was because the children were there,_ he reasoned as he walked in a comfortable silence with Carvin. But still, he was more than a little irked by her. As he was with most royalty.

"What did you think of Iriana?" Carvin asked, as if catching a vague scent of Faidn's thoughts.

Faidn shrugged and narrowed his sentiments into a concise statement.

"She's a princess."

Carvin laughed.

"That she is. I forget sometimes that you don't interact with the 'finer folk' – please – very often. Truthfully, she is much better than most."

Faidn shrugged again, his eyes sweeping the ornately carved walls and ceiling. The richness always made him feel awkward and distinctly out-of-place, especially wearing these fancy clothes he only took out when consorting with the 'finer folk'. He had felt much more comfortable on the battlefield four countries away than he did visiting the palace.

Carvin knew why his friend was so silent, and quickly made a suggestion so he could keep having a two-way conversation instead of minimal answers and much staring.

"Come on a ride?"

Others might have assumed that after being on horseback for the better part of two days, riding would be the last thing on Faidn's mind, but Carvin knew better.

A smile lifted Faidn's features and he clapped his friend's shoulder.

"Perhaps all this stuffy palace life hasn't made you forget everything important after all."

"Of course not," Carvin retorted. "But I have a dual purpose – I happen to know that my wife sent droves of tottery old ladies after me so they would stop asking her opinion on colors for the ball decoration."

Faidn looked at him in horror.

"We'll never escape!"

Carvin looked behind him and saw the hallway empty.

"We're safe for now, but let's pick up the pace. You never know, they might come after you for your... soldier's opinion?"

"Aye," Faidn said, lengthening his strides so Carvin almost had to jog to keep up.

Carvin looked over his shoulder again to see an older lady gaining on them holding two swathes of fabric.

"Ah! Run!" Carvin said in a muted shout.

They both bolted, leaving the poor lady standing there, blinking slowly.

"I thought I saw... Prince Carvin..." she mused, frowning.

* * *

The next week flurried by, swirling with decorations, fit pitching (mostly courtesy of Mittlan, though Lilliana contributed her fair share as well), dress fittings, gardening, cooking, and more. Servants ran into each other repeatedly and gave up apologizing, since that person was more than likely to run into _them_ at least once.

The children were disgruntled and crabby after being dragged from their classes or playtime every hour or so to greet a new arrival for the Annual Berensian Royalty Ball. Simpering ladies, distracted lords, ancient dukes, squealing duchesses, and on and on.

"I swear, if some old lady twists my cheeks around one more time, I am calling the Royal Guard," Lilliana hissed to Ceilear over the loud introductions of a grandmotherly-looking duchess.

The girls' cheeks were still red from the last Lady they had greeted an hour ago.

"Then you'll never get your bookth back. And thtop hithing," Ceilear 'whithpered' wisely.

"Ooh, what a beauty you shall be, Lilliana! What a dear you are, look at that smile!" Duchess Livington exclaimed, pinching the girl's cheeks soundly.

Lilliana shot her sister a longsuffering look before replying.

"I thank you most sincerely, Duchess Livington. I trust your stay here will be very enjoyable."

"Such manners!" the woman remarked. "I am not one to believe rumors, young miss, – though such rumors did I hear! – and I am immensely glad to see that those spreading about you are unfounded. Ah, Ceilear, the budding rose."

Ceilear smiled politely.

The lady just looked at her for a moment with an expression not unlike seeing a very cute puppy sit on command, then she pinched her cheeks as well. Ceilear almost, but not quite, winced.

"Lovely family you have, King Alphonse, very nice indeed. It is a shame that your parents could not be here, but I am sure they are enjoying the peace and quiet in the country castle, are they not?"

"Anywhere away from her would be peaceful," Lilliana muttered.

Ceilear giggled.

"Now, who shall escort me to my room?" Duchess Livington continued, not hearing the exchange and putting her wrinkled hands on her hips.

Her eyes scanned the courtyard and Alphonse was about to offer a servant when she spotted Faidn entering the clearing from the garden.

"Ah, how about you, handsome fellow that you are?"

Faidn whirled to face her with a look of confusion.

"Me, milady?"

"Of course, you!" she cried, "are there any other handsome men about that I needn't address by a more proper title? No, there are not. Come now, why do you gape? Most unbecoming on such a fine face. Take my elbow, that's it. Good gracious, boy, have you never escorted someone before?"

Faidn threw an exasperated look at Carvin who grinned devilishly.

"Well, have you? Speak up, boy!"

"No, not exactly," Faidn answered, figuring that escorting people to prison probably didn't count.

"Heavens above, boy! You need to get into society! No, now don't argue with me, I'm not to be crossed when I've made up my mind, and it only took one look at you to make up my mind."

"Up those stairs, seventh door on the left," a voice breathed in his ear.

Faidn nodded at the messenger gratefully. The boy smiled in a very stinks-to-be-you fashion.

"With a build like yours, my – you'd be snatched up in an instant. You are not married, I think?"

"No," he said, somewhat amused by her chatter.

"No, I thought not. A wife would never let you out of her sight, for fear of the other ladies."

Faidn guided her up the long staircase.

"Now, I know quite a few single ladies of rank that would catch even your eye. I can tell you are hard to please, but even these ladies would tempt you, I am sure. Many different beauties. I see that you are of a darker variety, so perhaps a lighter lady would balance you out? Blonde or brown haired with paler skin, yes... I shall introduce you to those. Are you titled?"

"I am General of the Berensian army," Faidn said cautiously, bracing himself for some kind of outburst.

"General! Indeed? Yes, I could see that. My my my, you would be absolutely fetching in your uniform. You did bring it to wear to ball, yes? If you did not (though I am sure you must have) I will send one of my servants post-haste to fetch it for you. I could not dream of allowing you to attend the ball without it."

"I did bring it," Faidn said, deciding that he, against his better judgment, liked this woman for her bluntness, so unlike the flowery, flattering speeches he'd been put toward whenever he ventured into society.

"Of course you did, General, you must know how the ladies love the uniform. It tickles their imagination, you know. But how is it that you have come to this ball, of all the balls in Berensia? I have heard tell that you dislike social gatherings, and this is the largest social gathering of the year!"

"I am an old friend of Prince Carvin's," Faidn said.

"Aha, excellent connections then. That would explain your young age for being the general, would it not? Though I am sure you deserved it, do not misinterpret my meaning. But Prince Carvin did take a risk putting a young man in the office. The prince is also a handsome one, pity he married a woman so plain – "

"Nre is not plain," Faidn said, hackles beginning to rise at the slight of his skill and Nre's looks.

"Oh, I meant no offense in the least," she said dismissively with a wave of her gloved hand. "Her personality beautifies her more than most women, mark my words. Ah, but there are some women I have acquaintance with that are pretty both inside and out. I will introduce them to you at the ball, all of the lighter toned beauty, of course."

_Fourth... fifth... sixth,_ Faidn counted as they passed the doors.

"Lady Tabitha, Duchesses Fiona and Meriwether, Lady Valerie, oh yes, and Princess Iriana has arrived, so I've heard, and she is a fine young specimen with an admirable temperament."

"Here we are," Faidn cut in smoothly, opening the door and disattaching her hand from his elbow.

"Very good, quite suitable," the Duchess said, surveying the spacious chamber bustling with servants unpacking her trunks. "I will summon you when I require company and we shall continue our discussion. But now, I must organize my things. Delilah! Come here at once and unpack my hats, I must see that they are in order!"

Faidn took her inattention to mean that he was dismissed and backed out of the room.

* * *

"Carvin, might I have a word?" Sarah asked.

"Of course," he said, stepping a few paces away from his family. "What is it?"

"It's Rose," Sarah said, looking worried. "There's something wrong and she won't tell me what it is. Will you please try to find out? She's been like this for two weeks now and I swear she's lost at least ten pounds. This has to stop or it's going to kill her."

"Why me?" he asked, wide eyed and confused. "Why not Dannlin, or else Stephen?"

"You're the first man she chose to trust," Sarah replied. "And for some reason she's downright furious at Stephen. Won't tell me what that's about either."

She paused and bit her lip, rubbing distractedly on her arm.

"She's always had her secrets, and she's never been the happiest person, but I haven't seen her this secretive and upset since... Ellespeth."

"But what if it's some woman thing?" Carvin protested, a small flush rising to the tips of his ears. "Like what if she's, erm, you know, pining, or something."

Sarah almost laughed at his awkwardness, but humor was harder for her to grasp than usual.

"After a man, you mean? No, I don't think so. No matter how much more relaxed she seems now, she still feels uncomfortable around men. She'll never feel perfectly comfortable around them, I think, not after all she's been through."

Carvin accurately assessed this as a bad time to ask what she had been through. He also quelled the arguments of _'Couldn't she still fall in love or something? Being afraid of them didn't make her exempt! Just, perhaps... more difficult.'_

"I'll try," he said finally.

"Thank you," Sarah said, and he could hear that she meant it.

* * *

**Reviewers get a piece of homemade cheesecake with your choice of toppings. Melted chocolate and sugared strawberries for me, thanks. Yum.**

**EDIT: Thank you, **Darth Chocolate**, for pointing out my typo!**


	5. An Aside I

**22 . 8 . 08**

**Thank you for my five reviewers! Please take note of the chapter title.**

**Disclaimer: This chapter is inspired heavily by Disney's Storybook Favourites: The Prince and the Pauper.**

* * *

"Denise! DENISE!"

A boy, no older than fourteen, scrambled as fast as he could down the street, chasing a large mop of a dog. He shoved aside some people loitering on the streets, almost toppling a cart of earthen dishware. The man shouted at him steadying the cart just before it crashed to the ground.

"Denise! Come! Come, please!"

His voice was panicked, but the dog didn't seem to notice. She ran at breakneck speed, eyes trained on the meaty bone a soldier was dangling out the back of the wagon.

"Please drop the bone, make her stop!" he screamed, willing his legs faster.

A few people shouted their protests too, but most of them were too used to the soldiers' cruel treatment of the innocents. They shook their heads and tried to evade notice. The band of troops just laughed uproariously, and the one holding the bone wiggled it a little. Denise leapt forward anxiously, falling just short of the prize.

"DENISE! NO!"

The wagon whipped through the heavy gates, Denise right behind. By the time the boy arrived, they were firmly closed.

"DENISE! LET HER OUT! LET HER GO!" he yelled, pounding with all his might on the door.

The wood remained stoically silent. The thick paneling didn't even let a murmur of the activity on the other side seep through to the desperate boy's ears. He banged on the door again, gritting his teeth with anger. How dare they! How could they take Denise, after everything else that had happened to him! Was he cursed for life?

The grief of losing his only remaining friend hit him and he collapsed into tears by the door, landing in a puddle of slushy snow.

"Oh, Denise, not you too," he whimpered, laying his head on his grubby sleeves.

"What's all the fuss?" a soft voice inquired.

"My dog got trapped inside," he mumbled.

"Is that all then?" The voice seemed dryly amused. "I'll have him out sooner than you can say King Damian."

The boy looked up in alarm, ready to stutter his warning to this obviously ignorant stranger, but when he caught sight of the face, his head whirled and his stomach flipped over.

What?

"For heavenly days," the other boy said breathlessly. "You look just like me."

* * *

"Are you sure this is going to work?" the grubby faced boy said skeptically.

He tipped the plush, feathered hat at a cocky angle over one eye. He had to admit, it looked rather dapper.

"Of course it will work," the prince said airily, readjusting the hat to a more elegant position. "Everything I want to work does, some way or another."

"I dunno," the other one said slowly, pulling on the velveteen doublet, "I have the worst luck in the world, and no common sense. I might be cursed."

"You don't need common sense!" the prince said with a laugh. "Besides, I'll be back here in three hours. There are only two things you need to say as prince; 'That's a grand idea, I'm glad I thought of it' and 'Guards! Seize him!' "

"What if it wasn't my idea?" the dirty boy stuttered, feeling for all the world like he was looking at a reflection of himself when he stared at the prince (especially now that the prince had donned his peasant's clothes).

"It is always your idea," the prince exclaimed happily, "even if it's not. Enjoy the dreadfully dull feasting and learning, I'm off to town!"

"But, Prince! Wait!"

But the prince had saluted with his ragged cap and disappeared out the window. By the time the poor boy had stumbled over to the window, making sure the silken train didn't drag on the carpet, the prince was gone.

"Oh boy," he groaned. "I don't even know his name. Or, my name, for the time being. Blast."

He turned to look at the ornate room, priceless bijous scattered across his desks and tables like old bones were across the alleys in the city below. Suddenly, this plan no longer seemed like such a good idea. The figure in the mirror was not dapper – it was risible and silly.

The boy was about ready to climb out the window after the prince when a manservant knocked, then entered.

"My Prince, it's time for your lesson," he said in a measured voice, then focused on the grubby boy in front of him, his eyes flicking to the window. He sighed. "Your highness, how many times have I told you not to go adventuring, especially not during the day. Come come, let's get you cleaned up."

He dragged the mute boy gently by the elbow to the small bowl of soapy water and washcloth. A few expert swipes and two hard scrubs was all it took to make the boy's face glow like it had never been dirty. A few more caresses from the soft cloth, and his hands were clean, except the dirt under his nails.

"Good enough," the man sighed, taking the boy and striding from the room. "Hurry it up my lad."

The boy trotted wordlessly, hoping the man didn't hear his heart thumping wildly. What lesson? Where was he going?

What had he gotten himself into?

And when was the Prince coming back?!

* * *

**Yes, I know it seems random. --stifled grin-- It will make sense in the end.**

**daring2dream: Here you go; have some cheesecake. --hands over a piece-- Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you kinda figured out who's who and who's **_**whose**_**. --chuckle-- I'm including a list at the end of the replies, to help you out, in case you need it. I don't think you were the only one struggling.**

**Mazkeraide: Thanks for reviewing! --serves up some cheesecake--**

**EVA: I have? I mean --accepts nudge from Cadmus-- Of **_**course**_** I have. All about you. That really is quite interesting, that you relate to two completely opposite characters. Wonderful, but interesting. Duchess Livington is amusing. No, she doesn't have multicolored hair. Though, she seems like the type that might do it. --grin-- What more noble way, indeed. Magic? Well, I blame Cadmus for any magic. He was getting fancy with the paints.**

**Speaking of that, he definitely knocked over an entire just-finished painting when he saw that you wanted to do a fanfic of Joseph. YES! You have my permission! I would adore to see what you would do with him; I know you would handle him excellently, probably even slipping in a moral lesson for good measure, which would just make me squeal in delight. If you were at all serious in your half-request, you have my full permission. And, no fair comparing yourself to **Lobuck** or the story to SHOE: the main characters are different enough that the stories would hardly be comparable, and especially depending on when in Joseph's life you were thinking of staging the story.**

**Darth Chocolate: I'm glad you liked them! They were immense fun to write. Thanks for the correction. You have a shout-out at the bottom of the chapter.**

**Clar t****he Pirate: I'm not exactly sure if your comment was a censure or a bit of joking exasperation. Heh. Okay, this bit of your review I've puzzled over and puzzled over, but I have no idea what you meant. "**And 'I thought I saw ... Prince Carvin...' - conversation about Iriana, what conversation about Iriana?**" Would you clarify that for me a bit, please? The change renedered in my author's notes? Hm, I suppose last chapter's was rather dismal. I had just realized how long I'd had this lovely story on hiatus, which put me in a dreary mood, and it then came out in my note, I suppose. My prose? --shifty eyes-- Well, I have a story for you. **

**Um, once upon a time, there was an authoress who was so inspired by a story that she wrote clear up to chapter 10, though she only posted chapters one at a time. So, she merrily posted once a week, the first three chapters. Then, overtaken in a storm of stubborn inspiration to write an arranged marriage fic where they actually get married, she puts said story on hiatus and leaves for a year. Upon returning, she dusts off the already written chapter four, and posts it. And so, she gets complimented for her improved style, yet she can't really take the compliment, as this was, truly, last year's writing. The end. (For reference, though, THIS chapter was half-written recently. The other half is old.)**

List of people and children to hopefully help you out:

Nre and Carvin married and had three children: Lilliana, Ceilear, and Mittlan.

Alphonse is Nre's older brother, the current reigning monarch of Berensia, and is married to Marlita with no children.

Cameron (deceased) and Iriana are brother and sisters, the only children of King Delmun and Queen Thyatira of Grendath.

Dannlin, Sarah, and Rose all came from Ellespeth (the country farthest East on the continent of Ladyra) with Carvin and Nre after Nasap's adventures.

Dannlin and Sarah married after a few years. They had one child: Stephen. Rose remains unmarried.

Faidn ran off and had some unexpected adventures of his own after Nasap, but he is still unmarried.

**Reviewers get a plate of chewy oatmeal cookies, either chocolate chip or raisin, as you prefer.**


	6. Risks

**27 . 8 . 08**

**I tried to update this yesterday, but the Documents page was blank. Obviously, that was a very large deterrent. So, I am here now.**

**Back to the story!**

**Disclaimer: Adorable lisps are not mine. Ceilear, however, is.**

* * *

It was two days until the ball and Lilliana was fit to burst.

"This is not fair!" Lilliana said finally, all her frustration at being forced into excellent manners and prompt obedience inflating the statement wrathfully as she threw her quill to the floor.

Wet blue ink shone on the stiff parchment, half of her name spelled out in beautiful calligraphy.

"It'th okay, Linna," Ceilear said, swinging her legs from the high-backed cherrywood chair so her toes barely brushed the carpet.

"That's easy for you to say," Lilliana huffed, "they can't take your songs away!"

Ceilear smiled sweetly, the smile that made all the ladies 'ooh' and 'ahh' with its angelic (albeit sparse in the toothy variety) quality. She would be a beauty, that was sure.

"I know, but if you're – _you are_, my apologieth – good, you can have them back in three dayth. It ith not forever. And do not contract, Linna, it ith slang."

Lilliana didn't deign to answer.

"All decent?" a hurried voice called from the other side of the door.

"Yeth, thir!" Ceilear said, humming to herself as she pumped her legs faster.

Stephen slipped in quickly and shut the door behind him.

"Uh oh, her royal highness is in a royal temper," he observed unhelpfully.

"Go away," Lilliana said fiercely, snatching up her quill and dipping it afresh into the ink.

"Well, that's nice," Stephen said, visibly affronted. "Maybe I had better leave, for safety reasons."

He peeked out the door quickly, to make sure whomever he was running from was gone. Ceilear made a face in Lilliana's direction and slid gracefully off the chair.

"I thall accompany you, then. Linna ith being _bo_ring," she said, and they both started walking out the door,

"Wait," Lilliana said suddenly.

Stephen was mostly out of the room, but he stuck his head back in with a wary expression on his face.

"Stephen," she declared, a smile beginning to creep across her face, "we're going on a mission."

Stephen pumped his fist in the air.

"Alright!"

"I wanna come too!" Ceilear whined petulantly.

"No," Lilliana said firmly, "you're too loud."

Ceilear crossed her arms and pouted, but the two older children ignored her.

"When? Where?" Stephen asked.

"After lunch tomorrow. Here."

Ceilear burst into tears and ran out of the room, bare feet pattering on the stone flooring. Lilliana and Stephen rolled their eyes. _Kids._

"Where are we gonna go?" he asked.

"Library," Lilliana said decidedly. "I saw a book in there the other day that really caught my eye. Besides, I'm sick of being good."

"Alright!" Stephen said, and they high-fived, both plotting the best ways to get in.

* * *

Carvin tried to evaluate Rose from afar off. She was sitting on a marble bench sideways, with her back resting on the castle wall and her feet propped up on the bench's opposite side. Her plain blue dress hung loosely over her frame, and Carvin noticed that she did look thinner, unhealthily so. Her face was also more gaunt, and her eyes flickered around the scenery absently, as if she was somewhere else.

"Rose?" he said, approaching her.

"What?" Rose asked, her head snapping up to look at Carvin, a panicked expression on her face.

"Can we talk?"

"S...ure," Rose said, scooting her feet closer to her.

Carvin sat.

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Have you taken a look at yourself?" Carvin asked. "You're skin and bone! What's happening?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it," she mumbled, hugging her knees.

"I _am_ worrying about it. Please don't make me order you to tell me," Carvin said, looking at Rose with genuine concern.

"You wouldn't understand," she said, shaking her head. "I'll be fine soon, okay? I've almost got it."

"Got what?"

"The answer," she whispered, her eyes looking beyond him.

Carvin almost shivered. The bright blue eyes were unfocused and eerie; she was thinking again. He put a hand on her arm to bring her back to the conversation. She pulled away with a jerk, a spasm of unrest flitting across her face.

"Rose, I'm worried about you," he said.

She forced a smile.

"Don't be. If you really want to help me, keep a lookout for a green book with a castle embossed on the front. I think Stephen took it and I really need it back, before anyone gets a hold of it."

Carvin blinked. That hadn't exactly been what he was expecting.

"Sure, I will. I'll set Gered and Aberforth on it, and tell Harold to check the library."

She smiled more brightly.

"Thank you, Carvin."

He nodded, not exactly satisfied with her answers, but he knew he wouldn't get any more out of her yet. He'd have to catch her unawares.

"I will go do that, then," he said, standing up.

She nodded.

* * *

_There has to be a way,_ Rose thought, turning over in her bed and staring at the neatly painted wall.

_But there's so much risk in all the options,_ _it might just make him stuck there for good. How..._

She turned over again, twisting the bedsheets. The table, chairs, and fireplace offered no inspiration. She sighed agitatedly. If there was one thing she hated, it was people in trouble who couldn't help themselves. She had a kind of weird empathy with them, and it drove her insane if she couldn't help them either.

But this was different. She _could_ help him. She just wasn't sure how, yet. She noticed a stain on her carpet and squinted at it. _How did that get there? _It looked kind of like a butterfly, if you looked at it right.

She blinked. _That's it! Heavens! Why didn't I think of it before?_

She smiled broadly, briefly considering getting up and telling Carvin; he'd still be awake for sure. But suddenly, it hit her how tired she was. So, she turned over one more time and relaxed for the first time since the beginning of this whole mess. _I can solve this, first thing in the morning._

Then, she was immediately in a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Anyone want to venture some speculation? No? What if I offer some rich, warm chocolate cake with home made chocolate icing? I think I might see some ears perking...**

**Darth Chocolate: You liked it? I'm glad to hear it. As for telling you; well, a magician never reveals his secrets. --smile--**

**daring2dream: I'll try not to make it too cliché. Any cliché urges will be sure to be directed toward NAPAN, the only story I am trying to make a bit cliché. They really are quite horrible. Mean nasty soldiers. Ugh. Ah, yes. That's basically what I meant: anyone non-criminal. Thanks! I'm glad you're reading. Chocolate chip and oatmeal it is, with a few chocolate chip oatmeal cookies in there for good measure. Oh, no problem at all. I hope it helped.**

**FaylinnNorse: 4: Thank you! Insufferable old ladies are very amusing to observe, though I'm quite sure I wouldn't want to be one of their pet projects. Ah! You adore Faidn? Well. Read SHOE. He's the main character! If you've ever heard that side characters can never be main characters in a believable story, this story proves them wrong. It's excellently thought out, superbly written, and true to character. Romance? Faidn? Is that possible? Ha, there probably isn't. At least, none that's a rule to live by. Fear not. Yes, being lost is not my desire. I hope the list helped you. 5: I'm glad you like it, even if you don't get it yet. I completely agree with you about the cookies. It's a terrible, terrible thing to see the cookies from afar off, think they're chocolate chip, rush discreetly to the plate, take a cookie, and **_**then**_** realize that they are not chocolate at all, but merely shriveled fruit: a poor substitute. You are?! Fantastic! --does a little dance-- No, I don't mind chatty reviews. They look lovely and long on my computer screen, and it's always amusing to learn a bit more about my reviewers. Oh, I love it when things come together. It's very convenient, and extremely inspiring.**

**Mazkeraide: I'm sure I will... somehow. --smile-- Here we go, Jab is separate this time. Better?**

**EVA: Speculation! Huzzah! Thank you. Mark Twain's version of the story is, I'm sure, infinitely better and wittier. Ahh. That was a great book. Enough parallel plots? Moi? Goodness, no. Never enough. --grin-- You're not the first person to tell me Denise was a strange name for a dog. Hm. You love my plot twists, I love your reviews. We're even. --chuckle--**

**Thick and creamy home made ice cream to reviewers, with fresh raspberries or strawberries on top, if you like.**

**EDIT: Thank you, **Clar the Pirate**, for pointing out my typos!**


	7. Tricksy, Tricksy

**3 . 9 . 08**

**And we return to watch our two favorite heroes pull off a daring stunt:**

* * *

"Now!" Lilliana hissed, waving at Stephen from across the hall.

He nodded and darted out from behind the curtain, leaving it swirling behind him in the rays of afternoon sun. The boy ran at full speed, colliding spectacularly into Gered who was patrolling the library door.

"Good gracious, Stephen, do not _run_ in these corridors, especially not with so many people dashing about anyway! And don't you have a book to return to Miss Rose?" Gered admonished, pushing himself to his feet and wincing.

"Sorry, Mister Gered, sir," Stephen said breathlessly, skimming over the book ordeal without a blink, "but Tornado's got loose in the ballroom and no one can catch him!"

"Lead the way!" Gered cried, running after Stephen who darted down the hall again.

Lilliana muffled a giggle behind her hand. Tornado – the cat – was the only thing that could have peeled Gered from his post. That cat was a menace to society – and Mittlan's ever-present companion. Only during naptime did the cat get into mischief, but he made enough mischief to make up for the rest of the time.

Once the running footsteps had echoed into silence, Lilliana stepped carefully out from behind her own curtain and crept into the library. She pulled the heavy wooden door open slowly, holding her breath in case it squeaked and attracted the attention of the vibrant, young librarian: Harold. After squeezing in, she closed the door with equal fragility, taking care not to let the latch click.

She tiptoed behind a table and peeked over the top, looking for Harold. _Ah, over by the Historical section. Good._

She slipped into the row of books containing the green tome she remembered vividly. Halfway down the shelf she found it and pulled it out, admiring the castle embossed in gold on the cover. "The Adventures of the Tyra" unfolded along the top in curlicue golden script that gleamed as if it had just been polished.

Tucking the book safely under her arm, she swept back toward the door, making hardly a sound. Harold was still busy organizing the books, she noted, his blonde hair visible above the table.

She made it safely back into the hall and took off running, narrowly avoiding servants who called their apologies to her retreating purple skirts. She was panting by the time she reached the iris field, but also unobstructed. No one had noticed that the blur of color had been carrying a book, and no one, save possibly the gardener if she didn't hear him coming, would discover her here for a while.

Of course, they knew she would go to the iris field if she wasn't found anywhere else, but she would be back in the palace in time for her dancing lessons in an hour, so they would hardly come looking for her. She ventured along the worn path to the middle of the field and sat down with the book across her knees.

A feeling of barely-contained excitement flooded through her as she licked her lips and stared at the front cover, fingers poised to open the book. A heartbeat pumped through her, then she opened the front cover and inhaled the musty smell of an old book.

The title page was first.

_The Adventures of the Tyra_

_by F. E. Hughes, Sor._

She turned the page again and skimmed through the dedication.

_To the Braxtons and thus, to my beloved country. _

_May this serve you well._

She flipped another page and found herself at Chapter One: The Beginning.

_Roger paced back and forth in his study, glaring at the offending room. The fire was dying and he had not bothered to light lanterns or stoke it up, so the room was shadowy and eerie; every stray piece of broken glass or snapped quill seemed larger than life._

Lilliana shivered as her mind imagined the scene, dark and forbidding. Her eyes raced through that chapter and the next, where she was introduced to Derwin, Julia, Francis, and Deborah, wanderers from the four regions of the world who were called together to protect the Natalie Locket, a powerful magical object that Roger was intent on finding.

She suddenly jerked herself back to reality and a wave of cold fear doused her imagination. How much time had passed?

She leapt to her feet and ran for the forest, her feet leading her to the tree without direction. Scooping away the leaves, she bared the useful hole she and Stephen had discovered long ago and carefully set the book inside of it, well under the roots so it would be safe if it rained. She then pushed the leaves back over the top and bolted for the castle.

* * *

"Mom, Aunt Rose is sick or something," Stephen said, out of breath from his mad dash to lose Gered, and then his run back from Rose's chamber.

His mother had sent him, since it was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon and Sarah hadn't seen her yet.

"Why do you say that?" Sarah asked, frowning and kneading the bread dough vigorously.

Stephen stepped closer to his mother to narrowly avoid two cooks carrying a large pot of boiling water.

"She won't wake up when I shake her and – "

"Talk louder, dear, I can't hear you," Sarah said, forming the dough into little rolls.

"Aunt Rose won't wake up," he said, louder this time, "she's all still and cold. She might be d—"

"Oh dear," Sarah interrupted before Stephen could finish his fear. "Wash your hands and make rolls out of these."

Stephen was not fond of kitchen work, but one look at his mother's grim face sent him weaving through the other servants toward the sink. Sarah rushed out the door, brushing her hands on her apron as she went. The halls were full of servants with drawn faces carrying bits of decorations or foods, intent on reaching their destination before anyone else. The day before the ball was always the worst, Sarah knew, but these people were keeping her from Rose, which made her irritable. She tried to keep her mind from imagining the worst.

"Move, all of you!" she said in desperation, squeezing between a messenger boy and a pretty young serving maid who was carrying a tray of foods and muttering;

"Less sugar he says, but if there's less sugar, it will not spin as high! What to do!"

Sarah elbowed a few announcers with trumpets and fought her way through a scuffle involving three boys in rich suits who had all just realized that the same girl had accepted all their invitations to the ball.

"She shall go with me, I command it!" one announced pompously.

"Not if I bloody your nose, she won't!" another cried, leaping on him.

Sarah barely missed the flying fist and escaped into a side passage, breathing in relief, though her heart was pounding in her throat. A few more seconds of running and she reached Rose's door, fumbling with the knob before throwing it open and racing into her bedroom.

Rose lay quite still on her side, no indication that she was even alive, much less sick. Sarah grabbed her limp hand, heart now under her tongue, and pressed two fingers to her wrist.

After a few agonizing seconds, she felt a faint heartbeat and sighed, almost collapsing in relief. She carefully laid Rose's hand down and yelled out the door, her voice carrying quite well.

"Someone fetch the doctor! Hurry!"

A child's voice shouted back that they would and she heard the small footsteps running down the hallway. She turned back to Rose. She did indeed look dead, her face held a very peaceful and relaxed expression, yet much paler and colder.

Sarah rolled her onto her back and smoothed her hair before putting another blanket on top of her.

"You know, you look much more relaxed on the brink of death than you ever did in life," Sarah commented.

Even as she said that. Rose's expression changed, she was now fearful, no, terrified. Her lips were moving fast but Sarah, though she strained, could not hear a single word.

The doctor burst into the room then, holding his bag which was swaying with his gait. He was tailed by a curious girl of maybe six.

"I found him!" she said proudly.

"Thank you," Sarah said quickly. "Doctor, I don't know what's wrong with her. My son came in and found her like this a few minutes ago."

The doctor laid a long-fingered hand on the soporose woman's forehead, then felt for her pulse. Rose's lips had stopped moving, but she retained the fearful look.

"Where does she work?" the doctor asked in a surprisingly deep voice.

"The gardens and the kitchen," Sarah replied, searching his face for any hint of emotion. He was keeping a practiced blank expression firmly in place.

"Has she been well, recently?"

"Not really," Sarah said, "but not sick, either. She's been very worried about something, and she hasn't been eating or sleeping very much."

"Hm. Interesting," the doctor said, examining the skin on her forearm, then gently lifting her eyelid. The eye stayed pointing straight forward, unflinching in the light.

He closed the lid and pinched her arm. The blood was sluggish in returning to the area, and only after a full minute did it regain its normal hue.

"She appears to be sleeping, though very deeply. Her pulse is even, though slower and fainter than normal, and I can find no sign of a sickness. There is nothing I can do, I am sorry. Call for me if she wakes, or if her pulse disappears."

He stood and began to leave. Sarah stood too and grabbed his arm.

"Wait! You can't just leave! She's not _sleeping_! Sleeping people wake up! This isn't normal, doctor, do something!" she cried.

He stared directly into her eyes.

"It is out of my hands. There is absolutely no purpose I can serve here. If you would like my unofficial opinion, I suspect magic is involved. Maybe finding a gypsy or enchantress would serve you well. Good day, miss."

He strode out of the room. Tears burned at the corners of Sarah's eyes.

"Miss?"

Sarah looked down, startled, to find the girl directly in front of her.

"Yes?" she replied vaguely.

"Do you want me to get a different doctor?"

"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" Sarah asked.

"No," the girl said, shaking her brown curls. "Mama left me home while she decorated."

"Alright then, yes. Thank you."

The girl curtsied prettily and began to scamper toward the door.

"Oh, would you also tell Prince Carvin that Rose is ill and Sarah wants to see him?"

"The Prince?" the girl said in awe. "Will they let me see him?"

"If you tell the guard you have a message from Sarah."

The girl beamed and skipped out the door and down the hall singing to herself.

"I'm 'onna see the Priiince, I'm 'onna see the Prince, yippee!"

* * *

Mazkeraide**: Stress, hm? Well. It is probably better to spread them all out, anyway. No, I've never heard of that game. That's an interesting concept. And, speculation! Beautiful. Very interesting, indeed. Here's your cake, to accompany your ice cream. --serves it up-- As for the vampirates, well, we'll see. --grin--**

FaylinnNorse**: Interesting thoughts! No, you don't really know what's up with Rose and the book. Don't worry – you're on the same page with everyone else. Oh! Right! --slaps forehead-- You were going to marry him, weren't you? And we did discuss the comparison between Virth and Spencer. (Still lovin' the name, by the way) I remember now. Familiarity is very nice.**

_**(blank)**_**: I'm not sure who this is! Please be sure to put your name in next time. Heh. Living in a castle has a few perks. --grin-- You will find out, rest assured. And Ceilear? Oh, no. She won't, because tattling would earn her more retribution from her sister and Stephen than it would from Mother and Father. Lisps are so adorable.**

Cimh**: Evil is my middle name. It got you to review, didn't it? Interesting theory, about the book. Strawberries it is. Here you are. --serves it up--**

daring2dream**: Hey, virtual food is negative calories! (You burn calories drooling over it. --smile--) You're totally good. One (hopefully) hilarious escapade, at your service. Was it up to par? Oh, you know me. Everything will work out... in the end.**

Clar the Pirate**: 5: Oh, that's completely understandable. Enthusiastically: that's good. I was hoping so. Automatically brilliant? Well, that's lovely. Dapper is one of the best words, to be sure, and risible is just excellent. Great observations. And, interesting speculation, as always. --smile-- 6: Jet lag? That sounds like a load of fun. --chuckle-- You like her little lisp and goody-two-shoes air, then? Ah, even if the online dictionary says 'shined' is acceptable, I don't like it whatsoever. Thank you for pointing out that and my other typo. You got a shout-out. Carvin tries. He really does. --chuckle-- I've not heard of that series. Hm. I'll have to check it out. Lovely theories. --smile-- Thank you for speculating! Have your well-earned cake with ice cream.**

SIMBA**: Stephen is good for a laugh, that's for sure. You'll find out what's happening with Rose, don't worry.**

Darth Chocolate**: I'm glad you like mystery...**

**Cotton candy for speculation, deep fried Mars Bars for reviews!**


	8. Anxiety

**18 . 9 . 08**

**Back again! I hope you enjoy the latest installment! I've reworked a lot of this chapter from what I wrote last year, and I'm not sure how well it turned out. Please keep a close eye for any clunky bits and let me know. I'd really appreciate it.**

**Disclaimer: Fairy tales belongeth not to me. These characters, however, do.**

* * *

Rose woke up and rolled over to swing her legs off the bed as usual, without opening her eyes, but her feet smacked into something hard, forcing her eyes open to see what it was. Her mind took in her surroundings in an instant and she screamed reflexively. Her home, her childhood home, in all its horrifying familiarity, surrounded her. The rough wooden walls, filthy dirt floor, a single bed in the corner she would hide under when her father raged, the itchy tick she was sitting on, all of it pumped terror into her.

_No, no no no, I escaped from there, this is just a dream._ She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up, a skill she had realized shortly after her arrival when dreams of her father or the Master chasing her flooded every sleeping moment. She concentrated on opening her eyes, her real eyes, but she couldn't force them open.

"Hello, Rose."

She whirled around, an involuntary tremor going through her body at the male voice she didn't recognize. No one was there, even as she whipped her head back and forth.

"Who are you? Where are you?" her voice was bold but she trembled still.

Everything was so real, the straw of the tick poked through its covering, stabbing her legs like tiny needles. _Could I be... back? No! I am not. This is a dream._

"I am Friedric Earl Hughes, Sorcerer," the voice said. "I have no need to ask you; you are Rose Elaine Magar, daughter of Elaine and Terrence Magar and sister of Tyler and Phillip Magar."

As he talked, she still looked everywhere, but she could not bring herself to move from the tick. She thought that feeling the dirt would only intensify the gnawing fear that this was real.

"Sh-show yourself!" she stuttered.

The voice continued as if she had not spoken.

"You're a commoner – no, a commoner _and_ a foreigner. Ellespeth, I see."

"Show yourself," she repeated in a terrified whisper. How could he know so much about her? Could magic unlock her memories to this man – this sorcerer?

"I'm sorry," the voice said, and it sounded uncaringly apologetic. "You are not who I intended to find the secret to this book."

"Wh-what?" Rose said, startled at his strange apology.

"You'll relive your life, starting from when you were six years old." He stated the fact like he was informing her when dinner would be served that night.

Blood drained from her face and her fingers shook with icy cold. _Oh, heavens be merciful, no!_ she thought desperately, but couldn't force her mouth to work. She wanted to say ten things at once. _This is just a dream. I'll wake up! This is not happening! Why is it happening? Why me? Why again!_

"NO!" she managed to scream, leaping off the tick and stumbling on the uneven floor.

Dirt poofed around her toes. She spun in a circle.

"Don't do this to me! Stop it! What do you want with me! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

She tore the room apart, opening cabinets, flailing her arm under the bed, looking for her attacker. She wondered vaguely why no one came in and stopped her.

"You won't hear from me again."

"COME BACK HERE YOU FILTHY COWARD!"

"Filthy, am I? Look at yourself!"

Her nightgown was covered in grime from kneeling on the floor and upsetting age-old dust. She tried to brush the dirt off, stains of her past, but it wouldn't budge. She brushed harder, but still it didn't fly away as it should.

Then she felt weak and lightheaded and crumpled onto the floor, hitting her head soundly on the bedpost. Everything went black.

* * *

Carvin responded at once to Sarah's messenger and came to Rose's chamber. He wrung his hands and paced, trying to think of solutions as doctors came and went, all shaking their heads with the same whispered verdict.

"'Tis magic of some sort, to be sure, miss. You would be better with a sorceress than a doctor."

But of course, no one knew where to find one, as most humanity avoided them utterly. To make matters worse, the ball was the following evening and no one had time to spare to do anything until after the ball was over, if Rose could last that long. Sarah and Dannlin, however, managed to convince others to take their shifts more often than not. She was never left alone.

She did seem quite stable, however. The only changes in her whatsoever were occasional changes of facial expression and sometimes a slight twitch of her arm muscles, as if she dreamed she was using them.

Stephen refused to leave her side.

Word spread quickly throughout the servants of Rose's strange illness, advice and tips came from everyone. They heard a sorceress lived here, a hag definitely resides there, would that be close enough?

Iriana, who had heard through a distracted Lilliana at dinner, was there often too, hovering, worried, in the background. Lilliana and Ceilear ran to Rose's room between lessons, always breathless for an update. Even Faidn, who had heard from Carvin, came there several times a day – to escape the clutches of Duchess Livington, Carvin guessed. Not that he blamed him. And, it was nice to have his friend there.

* * *

"Carvin?"

"Yes, it's me," Carvin whispered, closing the door softly behind him.

Nre sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes but not looking sleepy at all in the moonlit chamber.

"I couldn't sleep," Nre sighed, standing up and slipping on her satin bathrobe. She walked around the bed and Carvin's hand found hers. "I keep thinking about Rose. What could be wrong with her? Is she going to be alright? She's never been as robust as Sarah and Dannlin..."

Carvin hugged Nre comfortingly, running his hand through her tangled hair.

"Don't worry yourself, dearest. Please. I hate it when you do that."

"Am I supposed to just not worry?" Nre said in annoyance, though her tone was muffled a bit by his shirt and solid chest.

"That would be nice," Carvin sighed almost inaudibly, but he grinned at Nre's growl. "No, I just mean you're worrying too much. You need your sleep, and you need your sanity. The ball is stressful enough for you, even though you have plenty of help. The last thing you need is a nervous breakdown."

"I doubt that would happen," Nre scoffed, looking up at him with skeptical amusement.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Carvin defended. "You're far too easily worked up."

"Only over the things that matter," Nre said, her lips pinching and her eyebrows creasing with worry again as her thoughts drifted back to Rose.

Carvin ran his finger over the distrait woman's eyebrow, smoothing the wrinkles out.

"It will be alright," he said, catching her eyes and holding them.

"You don't know that," she whispered.

He took her face in his hands.

"I know," he sighed. "But, we can keep hoping, and keep trying."

He kissed her sweetly on the lips, then embraced her once more.

"Please, stop worrying."

"I'll try," she said resignedly.

The stars outside the window twinkled with a magic of their own, their patterns twisting dizzily throughout the heavens.

* * *

As the ball approached, the Duchess took even more of a special interest in Faidn. She began summoning more and more, asking to see him in his uniform, badgering him on his favorite qualities in a lady, interrogating him on past lady friends (that had been awkward), teaching him how to dance their popular dances here – he was unsurprised to learn that they had no country dancing – which he thankfully caught onto quickly, refining his manners, telling him the meaning and significance of a lady's looks, and instructing him on the manner of eating without appearing stingy or gluttonous.

It was after a particularly intrepid messenger braved the sickroom to deliver the Duchess's pronouncement that Faidn found himself sitting in the garden taking iced tea with the lady on the day before the ball. He took a long draw of his own, taking care not to slurp, and waited for the Duchess to begin her questioning.

"Did you ask Lady Tabitha to the ball, as I suggested?" she asked, sipping her iced tea without a sound.

"No, I didn't," he said truthfully.

She shook her head.

"Well I suppose it's a good thing you didn't, as Lord Derek asked her day-before-yesterday. I only just found out," she sighed. "But who shall you go with?"

"No one," he said, not for the first time.

"Nonsense, General. You must have an escort."

"Fine then, I'll ask Princess Lilliana."

"General! She's naught but eleven!" she looked scandalized, fluttering her hand to her chest.

"She's my best friend's daughter, and quite a safe escort," he said, barely keeping the exasperation out of his voice, though he fought a grin with his next words. "She's bound to make more of a ruckus than myself, I dare say."

"You had better not be making an sort of ruckus, boy!" the Duchess exclaimed quite loudly, setting her goblet down with a click on the wooden table.

"It was only a joke," he said feebly, lifting his hands in surrender.

"Oh, you will be the death of me yet, General," she sighed.

"I aim to please," he muttered, but her sharp ears caught it.

"Comments like that will have you driven into the hallway! You had better watch your smart tongue during the ball."

He stuck out his tongue and focused on it, nearly cross-eyed.

"General! I'll have none of those vile manners at my table! Have all my lessons amounted to naught?" the Duchess fairly shouted.

He acquiesced, pulling his tongue back in, though still smiling. She waved her hand at him.

"Begone with you, boy. I'll send for you when you've had enough time to think over the impropriety of your actions."

"Yes, milady," he said, standing and bowing properly.

She inclined her head, and he started out of the garden, relieved. Now he would just have to avoid her the rest of that day and the one following and he would be free of her nagging forever! He did quite like her as a person, but one tires easily of being told how wrong one is all the time.

He bumped into a spindly old man, nearly knocking him over.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Here, let me help you," he said, steadying him before picking up the man's spectacles which had flown off his face.

"Thank you very much," the man said with a smile full of straight, white teeth.

With a start, Faidn realized that he wasn't old, but his hair was an impossibly light blond, giving the impression that he had a full head of white hair. He couldn't have been a day over thirty-five.

"I am Lord Benniton, but please call me Gregory," he introduced with a bow.

"General O'Neill, please call me Faidn," Faidn said in reply, also bowing.

"To where are you headed?" Gregory asked.

"I am, ah, I am not sure," Faidn said politely.

"Walk with me, then? I have not a clue where I am going either. Perhaps we shall stumble upon our destinations while wandering."

Faidn smiled.

"I would be happy to."

Faidn learned that Gregory was a scholar turned lord when his older brother died, leaving him the title. He would still study when he had the time, but he had far less of it now than he did. He was especially interested in studying the effects and methods of magic and spellwork, though had no desire to learn it himself.

"It's much too risky. I would prefer to write about it," he had chuckled.

This interested Faidn, who told him of Rose and the doctor's predictions. Gregory was intrigued.

"It definitely has the fingerprints of spellwork, yes," he said, almost to himself, "and enchanted sleep is not an uncommon curse. It is probably also accompanied by some type of nightmare that the lady must suffer through until she loses the will to live, or else the curse is broken."

"Uh oh," Faidn said intelligently.

"Very much so," Gregory nodded. "Half the battle will be finding out who cast it and how, and from there we can decipher his normal varieties of magic and preformation (his style, if you will) using some books that you should have in the royal library, and then unravel the curse. Most spellwork is riddles, you know. Embedded within the spell is some kind of code that we must break to free her from the curse."

Faidn nodded, grasping about half of what he was saying.

"Most extraordinary, most extraordinary. Pray, do you know: has she been acting odd lately, or did this come all of a sudden?"

Faidn caught himself halfway through shrugging.

"I don't know, I've only just arrived."

"Do you know of any who would know?"

"Yes, Sarah would probably know," Faidn said. "She's in the kitchen, would you like me to fetch her?"

"I think you had better send someone after her, yes," Gregory mused, his mind whirring.

Gregory was in his element. Faidn sent the first servant he saw to get Sarah.

_Hang in there, Rose. Just hold on._ He'd had enough nightmares through his life to know that being trapped in one for any length of time would be devastating. _We're coming for you._

* * *

EVA**: Did I not warn you that this one would be a bit different? And, as I'm sure you can see, it's not about to get any less sinister – at least on Rose's part. Ah, disobedience. Lilliana has no idea, indeed. I'd hate for my chapter to read like a horror movie! I'm glad you like all those bits. I wasn't sure if it worked to end the chapter on such a silly, childish note. But, it appears that you liked it, anyway. Oh, and the extended 'i's in 'Prince' were supposed to show her sing-song voice drawing out the word. Thanks for the hint on r-dropping, though; I'd completely forgotten that. I'll store that away for future small-children-characters. (I love using kids in stories. I Do was so sad without them!)**

Cimh**: Lovely speculation! Here's your cotton candy. --hands it over-- Cats are a menace to society. But, I must admit that I love them anyway. --rueful grin--**

SIMBA**: It wasn't a genuine cliffie. You're just impatient.**

FaylinnNorse**: Sorry, she's not in Book World. Nice guess, though. Haha! Gered certainly is one of those guards destined to be outwitted by rambunctious children. Lovely description. Ah, Carvin and Nre? You wanted to see them? Well, there we have it, then. ****Your questions about Hughes have been answered, yes? What a wicked man. As for the Braxtons... --lowers voice conspiratorially-- Now, you didn't hear this from **_**me**_**, but we know someone whose last name is Braxton. Go look through the previous chapters. Oh, I reviewed now!**** And don't be ashamed of review-begging. Your story is quite good enough that it deserves the reviews, anyway. You just reminded me that I needed to.**

Starwings1**: Hello! Thanks for reviewing! I hope you stick around. --smile--**

Darth Chocolate**: Wait, did you want Rose to die? What a cruel little reader you are!**

daring2dream**: Great theories/speculation! You can have cotton candy and a fried mars bar. Enjoy! Oo, I sure hope it works. --gulp-- I definitely have an elaborate host of main characters. I hope this chapter answered some questions about Faidn and Iriana.**

Mazkeraide**: Inkheart? Yes, I've read them. I quite enjoyed those two. Hmm. Very interesting speculation. You get your friend mars bar and cotton candy, both. --hands them over-- Vampirates! How did you guess? --wink-- I'll have you know I laughed aloud at that. Oh, please don't stress about my story! I'm sure you have enough stress in real life. Yes, they are a bit young to be married. That's alright. I'm glad you're reviewing at all. Pink, of course. --smile--**

**I'm sure most of my American reviewers would appreciate a nice soothing cup of Chamomile tea, after the sweeping damage of Ike. Would you like sugar? Cream? And my foreign reviewers are welcome to some tea, as well. Please review!**

**EDIT: Thank you, **Clar the Pirate**, for pointing out my character mistake!**


	9. That Which Was Lost

**16 . 10 . 08**

**I'm not sure how much I like this chapter. It's been a while since I've actually written it, and I'm not sure how good it is. Let me know if something is odd, please.**

**I really appreciate you guys!**

* * *

"Why couldn't you give me a boy, like we agreed, huh, woman! Instead of a good-for-nothing wench?"

The thundering voice almost rattled the house. Rose scooted deeper under the bed, trying not to let dust into her tiny nose.

"I'm sorry, Terry, I tried," her mother protested weakly.

"You just wanted to have your own way, always independent, aren't you? Never wanting to obey orders. So you give me a worthless girl like you who can't do a thing to help me. She's so small, she's so frail, she gets sick so easily; I'm willing to bet you had a fairy curse her just to spite me, didn't you Elaine?"

"No! Terry, honestly, stop this, please. We have Rose and I can't do anything about that. We can love her and she'll grow stronger with time. She's only six, dear," Elaine said softly, pleading.

"When Tyler was six, he could carry a whole stack of wood, when Phillip was six he could carry a full bucket of water in each hand without spilling anything. Rose is six and she can't even feed her own self without messing it up!"

Rose heard a few bangs and she retreated even farther back into the darkness.

"Terry, stop it, just stop it. The more you talk about her like that, the worse she'll be. She loves you, you know." Her voice was desperate.

"Oh sure, I don't think so. She has that mask on like you do all the time."

"What mask?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"The mask that you try to make me believe is real, the one where you say you love me, but then you turn around and encourage Rose into wickedness!"

"I do not encourage her into wickedness, who has been telling you tales?"

"You teach her to read?"

Pause.

"Yes."

"That is wickedness, a woman should not read! You have been punished for your abilities, and I will not have you corrupting the little devil further. She is a danger to my boys and must be subdued."

"She's not an animal!" Elaine protested hotly.

"She's an uncontrollable, faking, educated whelp with no redeeming qualities about her!"

"She does too! She's got such a big heart, and she's quite pretty, Terry!"

Rose smiled; a happy warm feeling tickled her toes. Her mother just said she was pretty when she didn't know she was listening. Then laughter pealed through the rooms, grating on Rose's ears.

"Pretty? _Pretty_, Elaine? When has your judgment become so warped? She is not pretty at all. She is far too skinny, and she's all arms and legs. Her head is too big and her nose is off center."

Rose looked cross-eyed at her nose. It looked fine from here, but Daddy said...

"Terry!"

"At least if she was pretty, we could marry her off in a few years, but I think we'll be stuck with her forever. Meanwhile, I will not have her animalistic qualities invading my boys minds. She will be controlled."

"How do you propose that." Her mother's voice was cold, but fearful.

"Hasty and firm discipline, Elaine. And you are not to touch her, do you hear me? If I hear that you have disciplined her first, you will pay dearly for it, and so will she. All punishments are to be left for me."

"Terry, pl—"

_Slap._

"Do you understand me?"

Elaine must have whispered her affirmation, because Terry continued.

"As it should be. Do you want a taste of your punishment for defying me, or shall I be merciful?"

A whimper. A bang. Rose puzzled out what was happening and rolled out from under the bed, streaking into the kitchen where more bangs were issuing. _Daddy went crazy,_ she said to herself, legs pumping. _Mommy said that happens sometime when they drink too much Bad Stuff._ She saw her father's fist raised over her mother's bloodied nose and ran faster.

"LEAVE MOMMY ALOOOOOOONE!" she shrieked, taking a flying leap and landing like a cat on his torso.

She scrabbled and took hold of his arm which he was swinging around in an effort to dislodge her. She kicked furiously anywhere she could reach and sank her teeth into his arm. He howled and dropped Elaine, bringing that fist around to catch Rose's stomach. She flew off his arm with a wumph and crashed, skinny legs flailing, into a cabinet.

"Terry, leave her alone, she didn't mean anything by it," her mother pleaded, wiping blood from her mouth.

"Didn't mean anything by it?" he roared, "the savage tried to bite my arm off!"

"Daddy what's wrong?" Rose asked, wide eyes streaming from the pain in her stomach and back. He knelt on the floor and look at her dead on.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? What's wrong is that your name is Rose, and not Terrence Junior," he said in a deathly mutter, then stood up again.

"I'm going to town."

He kicked Rose, catching her mid-thigh. She gasped at this new wave of pain and stared in confusion after her father. _I thought... I thought Daddy loved me,_ she thought, utterly perplexed by this turn of events. Tears of pain dripped onto her worn tunic, but not tears of grief. There had to be an explanation, she knew it.

"M—m—mommy, did Dadd—dy go c—crazy fro—om the Bad S—s—stuff?" she said unevenly, around spikes of pain wedging from her stomach up to her chest.

"Yes, I think he did," Elaine said softly, wiping more blood from her face and kneeling to check her injuries.

She looked once more toward the doorway he had vacated and her face tensed, then she looked back to Rose.

"You almost are more trouble than you're worth, Rosie," she murmured.

Rose hiccuped, and a droplet of her mother's blood dripped onto her pants leg.

* * *

Gregory was up most of the night questioning the servants who knew Rose while they worked for the ball. No one reported anything he didn't already know: Rose had been jumpy, nervous, and prone to lose focus in conversations for the past two weeks. No one had seen her carrying an object around, seemingly entranced by it, and no one had seen anyone suspicious on the grounds.

"Are you sure she hasn't been carrying anything around?" Gregory asked Sarah.

"For the thousandth time, yes, I'm sure," Sarah said stroking Rose's hand absently.

Faidn shifted positions in the background. Not wanting to leave Gregory alone, he had stayed with him through the interrogations. He was now running his eyes over Rose's inert form, searching for any clue in his friend's almost death-like repose. What could the resident wallflower have done to merit such a cruel attack?

Stephen had long since fallen asleep with his head a scant three inches from Rose's. He would wake up every twenty minutes or so and ask if they found anything new before dropping off again.

He jerked awake after Gregory and Sarah's brief exchange.

"Whadidja say, Greg?" he said, wide awake instantly.

"Lord Benniton," Sarah corrected softly. "Remember your place, Stephen."

"Carrying anything around. Rose. The same thing I've been saying all evening," Gregory repeated.

"She has too!" Stephen shouted. "That book! She couldn't put it down when she was off duty, but she always left it here on that table while she worked."

"That's why no one saw her with it," Sarah mused.

"Do you know what it looks like?" Gregory asked, eyes a bright brown behind his spectacles.

"I should. I stole it and hid it from her so she'd quit reading it," Stephen said. "I know where it is, too, I stuck it in the library shelf so it'd blend in with the other books."

"Is that what she's been so mad about?" Sarah asked, mouth agape. "Stephen Dannlin!"

"Milady, if you please," Gregory interrupted. "Take us to the library, Stephen."

Stephen hesitated, glancing at Rose.

"I'll stay with her," Faidn said from the shadows.

Sarah jumped – she had completely forgotten he was there. Stephen nodded and walked quickly out the door. Faidn walked to Rose's bedside as they all filed from the room in a rush.

"I'll take you through the shortcuts," Stephen said, pushing aside a tapestry.

The original Berensian royalty had done the classic 'secret tunnels' well, (of course, any self-respecting servant child knew them all by heart) hiding them behind tapestries and trick curtains. Though, they did not make them comfortable in the least. They were short and uneven, as if the stonework had been done by amateurs.

_Which it probably was,_ Sarah thought later. _The masons' children might have done this themselves, with supervision, to give them a connection to the other children who would be using it._

They emerged at the library, which was, of course, locked, as it was four o' clock in the morning.

"Oh bother," Stephen said, banging uselessly on the door.

"What now, companions?" Gregory inquired.

"I suppose you shall have to find Harold, Stephen," Sarah said.

"I don't fancy walking in on a librarian in his drawers, thanks," Stephen said with a horrible face.

Sarah opened her mouth to make a stronger command when Abe was upon them.

"Why, hello!"

Gregory jumped this time. The young man looked at them all in front of the door.

"Need to get in? I have a key."

"You are a dear," Sarah said. "Yes, please."

He fished the key out of his pocket and twisted it into the lock.

"What are you doing walking the corridors at this hour, good sir?" Gregory asked suspiciously.

He opened the door and lit a lantern with a match from his pocket.

"I offered to fetch a book for Princess Nre, since she was up pacing her study, worrying about Rose, and I was just getting back from my shift in the kitchens," he explained. "I'm going to fetch her 'Not All As It Seems' I think; it's the story of her ancestor, Shayna, you know. After much prodding, the fairies divulged her tale in pieces and Mister Daniel Cortesq compiled it, presenting it to her for her past birthday. She's read it through three times."

"It's not here!" Stephen said, rushing back to them.

While Abe had been explaining himself, the boy had run off to the shelf where he'd hidden the book.

"There's a space for it, but it's not there! Someone else has it!"

* * *

**--gasp!-- A cliffy! What do you think so far? Comments? Please point out if you think something is odd, because I've had a lot of trouble with this chapter!**

**Cimh: Well, Gregory isn't exactly a sorcerer in training; he just likes studying magic. So, really, he won't be able to help much past figuring out what the problem is. He's probably banking on being able to contact a magic-worker of some sort at that point if there isn't a simple solution. Sure, you can have peppermint. Yum!**

**Darth Chocolate: I have to say, I'm not sure what Nanny McFee is. Is that a movie?**

**daring2dream: Always more question, never answers! Answers are overrated. --grin-- Oh no! I hope the repairs for your cousin's house are coming along well!**

**FaylinnNorse: No, I can't say that I have. I'm not generally a sci-fi fan. The only sci-fi show I watch is Doctor Who. --chuckle-- I didn't intentionally base Faidn off a character I've never heard of, promise! --nervous smile-- It won't be happy at all for Rose to relive her past, as you can see here. Poor girl. Hint on the Braxtons: try looking in chapter 3. Carvin and Nre are just plain adorable. I've been sort of drabbling with them over the past few months, and the more I write with them, the more I love them. Cameron too, but he's out of the picture now. Oh well. Their relationship will be more real when I rewrite Nasap, though. I've been doing a lot of thinking about that. Oh! Back to your review. Sorry. Gregory's a fine fellow. He should prove useful.**

**Mazkeraide: You know, I might actually put vampirates in a story, even if it's just a cameo appearance. The concept is absolutely intriguing! Lovely speculation, as always. How's the new carpet coming?**

**SIMBA: You're very impatient sometimes. --grin-- Pulling guys out of nowhere is my spec-i-al-ity. --chuckle--**

**Falchion: Well, thank whoever pushed you, from me! --smile-- Thanks for reviewing! Faidn does have patience. He also has a sense of humor that is greatly amused by the Duchess a vast majority of the time. You guessed that? Good for you! Aw, I'm sad you didn't say that, though. It would have just about made my day. I love it when people pick up my little dropped hints.**

**Clar the Pirate: Ah! You're right! No, you are. I was so busy trying to reorganize and formulate the other bits of my previously-written chapters that I didn't bother to realize what a stereotypical character he is. What a disaster! Thank you for pointing that out. I needed to give his motives another think-through, and rewrite some of his lines. Thanks so much! I can't believe I didn't realize that. Good word. You have a shout-out at the bottom of the page now. Ah, that word is one of my very favorites to use ironically. I have to watch myself so I don't use it too often and annoy my readers. It **_**is**_** so funny both ways!**

**Forever Daydreaming: Welcome to the story! Thanks for reviewing! If I could, I'd always have my nose in a book, too. Unfortunately, real life duties keep me from my preferred pastime all too often. --sigh-- I feel sorry for Rose too! As if living through that once wasn't enough!**

**Thank you for all of your lovely reviews. I can't tell you how much they mean to me. **

**Reviewers this chapter will get marshmallow Peeps © , and speculators will get a miniature chocolate bunny as well. (Yes, I know it's not nearly Easter, but I think there's something exciting about eating holiday foods nowhere near the holiday. --grin--)**


	10. An Aside II

**Sorry for the horrid delay. I could tell a nice long story that would involve terrorism, kidnapping, tae kwon do, and a bag of frozen peas, but I think the best (and most truthful) explanation would be: I got busy. My apologies.**

**Again, note the chapter title.**

**Disclaimer: The kid's mine. Prince and the Pauper-esque qualities? Cheers to Mark Twain.**

* * *

The boy rubbed his shaggy dog absently, not caring that the twigs and brambles were scratching his hand. He was busy thinking. He didn't know where to go next. The dog licked his hand with her wet tongue.

"Ugh, Denise," he said, wiping the slime onto her matted coat. "Where do _you _want go?"

She looked at him, then put her head back on the ground.

"You're no help."

He sat in the alley for a few more minutes, letting his scavenged meal settle. The city streets were starting to fill again for the evening activities, now that dinner was over. He heard some street musicians, bad ones, start up their songs. Conversation passed in snippets by his narrow doorway to the busy street. He could see them, but they couldn't see him unless he moved into the waning light. He watched the people. In the darkness, they were faceless, nameless, lifeless. His mind patterned faces onto them, familiar faces – dreaded faces and painfully loved faces.

The crimson sky had darkened to a musky purple before he stood up.

"Come on, Denise. Let's go to the capital. Maybe there's something there for us."

She stood up and shook her coat, then looked up at him expectantly. He eyed her dirty fur with a wrinkled nose.

"You really need a bath. What have you been into? Never mind. I don't want to know. Come on, if we're going to get a ride, we'd better find the city gate and look pitiful."

Denise just looked at him. The boy smiled and rubbed her ear.

"Come on, girl."

* * *

"The monarchy will fall."

Nervous rustling. Someone peeked toward the door, being sure the latch was drawn. No whispers of treason rang the room.

"It will fall, and then where will the people be?"

"Where they are now."

"No!"

"Never!"

"We need a new king!"

"Are you mad? A king?"

"Who would listen to a king, now?"

"Peace, men. Peace. Keep your voices down. If we are overheard, it's death for all of us."

That brought quiet to the room.

"They will not listen to a king – not a normal king. They need a king with more power, and a king with more intelligence. They need a king who was once one of them, a king they can trust."

"And I suppose you are that king?"

"Don't sneer at him, Ganger. He has a point."

"No, not I. There is someone else I had in mind."

"Who?"

"Who else?"

"Not—"

"Naturally. He's the only one who could."

"But, the people hate him!"

"No! The people only seem to hate him."

"The people aren't allowed to love him."

"Exactly. If he emerges as the head of a Revolution, they'll follow him like sheep."

"To the slaughter."

"Ai!"

"No, listen to me. If they stand, the military will crush them."

"_If _they stand. They have no backbone."

"They're just scared."

"So? They still will not stand up."

"If he goes around the country, stirring up nationalism among them, getting their minds ready for a turning of the tide, then we have our chance."

"Why will they stand now, when they haven't before?"

"The king's next outlandish decree will bring them to action."

"King Damian knows the people are unhappy. He is starting to reform him ways."

Soft hissing.

"No, he's right. King Damian won't do anything to upset the balance now."

"How will the people stand, then?"

"There will be something. There always is."

"But—"

"Trust me."

"Aye, we trust you."

"Yes."

"We do."

"Long live the people."

There was a pause, then every man nodded and repeated.

"Long live the people."

* * *

EVA**: Well, now it's taken me long enough to update that I deserve the scolding. --hangs head-- You're right about Rose. That's the part that hurts me the most, too. Her Mom loves her and stands up for her to her father, sometimes, but when it's just her and Rose, she wonders if Little Rosie is really worth all the pain. How much better would it be, indeed. I'll do my best with what I have, though.**

FaylinnNorse**: I am planning on writing that story... someday. I actually have most of the plot for it, already. But, it's waiting in storage for the time being. It is rather typical, but it explains sort of why Rose is the way she is. Ah, her mother breaks my heart. --sad sigh--**

Mazkeraide**: Yeah, I was hoping this explanation would show more of why she was so painfully withdrawn in Nasap. I hope your carpet has come in by now! It's taken me long enough to update, anyway.**

clairetenshi**: I'm glad you enjoyed it! The names are odd, but I try to mix them with normal names (like Rose and Abe) so you aren't muddling through the entire thing. Nre is probably the one you were having the most trouble with, yes? It's like Marie with an N, if that helps. I might have weird eating habits and an active imagination... --grin-- Oh, thank you! I adore grammar and spelling, as dorky as that sounds, so I like it when someone points out if I'm doing well. I'm glad I could let you just read for fun. I know what you mean about that! Oftentimes, good stories with bad spelling/punctuation/grammar turn into projects for me, and then it's not quite as fun to just **_**read.**_** Sorry for the long delay! I hope you keep reading!**

Falchion**: I know, really. He is an idiot. Well, if they find the book and give it to Gregory, he might be able to figure out what happened to Rose exactly.**

Darth Chocolate**: Peeps are... somewhat disgusting. I'll give you that. They haven't really thought of Lilliana yet, since she's not supposed to even have books at all. She knows what's happening, but she doesn't have any control over it. It's like she's trapped in her kid-body and is **_**doing**_** it all over again, but she can't change anything.**

Forever Daydreaming**: Probably a bit of both. I know; isn't that terrible? --sniff--**

**Chocolate chip scones for reviewers!**


	11. Missing

**26 . 11 . 08**

**Happy Red Wednesday!**

* * *

After Faidn woke up on the morning of the ball, he went to visit Rose, as he normally did. She was tossing and turning and feverish, so he stayed and helped as best he could. He wasn't at his forte when surrounded by motherly women who knew more about nursing than he did, but he didn't want to leave, just in case she got worse.

He stepped out into the hallway to get some air somewhere around midmorning. All the hustle and bustle was reminding him of the medic stations at war. Carvin shoved Faidn's arm with his shoulder and Faidn took his head out of his hands.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," Faidn said. "She's not doing well, Vin."

Carvin frowned.

"Is she going to be alright?"

"I dunno," Faidn said. "I hope so. What brings you down here, though? I'm sure the nobles and dignitaries wanted luncheons and teas all day; it couldn't have been for nothing that you escaped."

Carvin laughed, but it was the laugh of someone who wished that it wasn't true.

"You're not kidding. I just wanted to remind you about the ball tonight—"

"You don't expect me to stay for the whole thing, do you?" Faidn said, narrowing his eyes. "That was not part of the deal."

"No," Carvin said quickly. "You can leave, but you're escorting Lilliana, right?"

"I don't really care at this point."

"Well, she's expecting you to," Carvin said, obviously rushing. "You'll be announced after Nre and I, and then you _have_ to stay for the first dance. It's the royal's dance. Then you can leave, but be discreet, please. Don't forget that this ball is partially for peace between Berensia and Trule. Have you heard the latest rumors?"

"Carvin," Faidn said flatly.

"Right, sorry," Carvin said, and Faidn could see that his friend's nerves were on the raw edge of insanity. "You wouldn't hear the rumors. Well, since you never appear for any social events, and you're suddenly showing up for the ball, word has it that the Trule dignitaries think you're planning some sort of war conference during the ball."

"What?!" Faidn spluttered. "Why aren't we getting along with them, anyway?"

"It's a long story," Carvin said tiredly. "Just be careful, _please_. The peace between our two countries might very well hang on this ball, _and your appearance at it_."

"Alright. I'll slip out when no one's looking."

"Thank you. Try to come back a few times, if you would, just so they don't suspect anything."

"You nobles do things in such a roundabout way."

Carvin smiled tightly.

* * *

"No!" Lilliana shouted; the infernal dress fitting had completely spalled her fragile temper. "NO! _Stop_ poking me, _stop_ prodding me, and by all means, _STOP_ putting more _frills_ on this _monstrosity._"

"Princess Linna," the dressmaker started, with significantly less patience than he had started with two hours ago.

"No!" she said flatly, swatting away his hands, which were holding a small roll of lace and pins. "I'm finished!"

"Your dress is almost done," the man said irritably. "Please, hold still. Ten more minutes."

"No!" she repeated, her voice becoming more shrill. "NO!"

"Linna, what is going on here?" Nana asked authoritatively, walking in on the scene with arms akimbo.

"This fiend is besmirching my wardrobe with this frothy lace! Have I not enough lace on here to clothe three princesses? I am _finished_ with this fitting!" Lilliana cried, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining.

"He's almost done," Nana insisted, taking Linna's arms firmly in her strong hands before the girl could flail them wildly and knock someone in the eye. "Hold still, you little squirrel. It's a wonder he could get anything done with all your whiny, cross chatter."

"It's a wonder I'm still _alive!_" Lilliana said harshly, struggling against Nana's grip. "Poking, sewing, cutting, shoving, scrunching, standing, standing, standing! No! I am finished with this. Let me go at _once!_ I order you!"

Nana and Lilliana stared at each other, fiery chocolate eyes meeting narrowed honey-colored ones.

"Lilliana? Is everything alright?"

Nre pushed the door open, tired blue eyes taking in the whole scene. She sighed.

"Lilliana, please—"

"NO!" Lilliana bellowed. "I WON'T! WOULD YOU ALL STOP ORDERING ME AROUND LIKE I'M SOME KIND OF SLAVE? LET ME _GO!_ _NOW!_" Lilliana wriggled so hard that Nana had little choice than to let go.

The girl bolted from the room, shoving past her mother rudely and disappearing around the corner. Nre looked like she might cry.

"Don't worry about her, your majesty," Nana said kindly, patting the younger woman on the arm. "She just needs to cool down. We'll have to rush a bit with her hair, and she might have to miss dinner, but she will be ready in plenty of time for the ball."

Nre nodded and managed a smile.

"Yes, thank you. And you, Brent. I'm sorry for her fit."

The dressmaker, who had been packing his things, looked over his shoulder and smiled grimly.

"Children will learn their lessons, one way or another."

* * *

_They kept walking in spite of their wounds, still holding the Natalie Locket safely in Julia's inner pocket._

Lilliana shivered in delight and kept walking toward the tree, putting the afternoon's events behind her.

"_Julia, can you shield this area?" Derwin asked._

"_I don't – think so," she said, her statement halved by a grimace of pain. "Not strong enough."_

"_Alright," Francis muttered with a worried frown. "Well, we need to set up camp here anyway. Hopefully we're far enough away from those centaurs to be relatively safe."_

"_Here, let me see it," Deborah ordered, pushing her blonde hair out of her face and kneeling beside where Julia had collapsed._

_Julia wordlessly pushed her hair out of her face, exposing a nasty looking gash on the side of her head, obviously gifted by one of the centaurs._

"_There's little more dangerous than a centaur's blade," Derwin said quietly. "Other than a book in the wrong hands."_

Lilliana frowned. _That's an odd thing to say..._ she thought, puzzling over what Derwin could mean. Then she made a face, imagining what Julia must be feeling as she read about Deborah bandaging the wound. _I wish I could be Julia,_ she thought vaguely. _She's so brave._

Then, without warning, she became lightheaded and nauseated. She remembered thinking that she might be about to faint, and how storylike that would be, before her vision darkened.

* * *

"Lilliana?"

"Princess Lilliana!"

Lilliana's Nana and Abe ran into each other, both flustered and running. Abe grabbed her arm before she lost her balance, and they moved out of the flow of traffic.

"Are you looking for Lilliana too?" the older woman asked, breathing hard.

"I certainly am – the Lady of Shoes was expecting her an hour ago!"

"I thought she would have returned from her sulk by now," Nana said in frustration. "Did she not come running to you?"

"No," Abe said, confused. "Was she supposed to?"

"No," Nana said slowly, furrowing her brows, "but she threw a temper tantrum, so I assumed she would run to you or Stephen, since she has no books to read."

"Well, I've checked Stephen's chamber, and Rose's, already, and she wasn't there. I've also checked the library, – just in case – and the kitchens," Abe said.

"And I've checked the entire garden," the Nana supplemented, "including the iris field."

They fell silent.

"Where else does she hide?" Nana asked.

"Her room," Abe said.

"I just checked back there to make sure she hadn't run in while I was looking for her."

"Then I have no idea."

Nana looked grim.

"The ball starts in three hours. If she's not there..."

She trailed off. Abe's eyes reflected that he was thinking of all the unpleasant possibilities.

"I'll spread the word. She's probably only hiding."

"No doubt, she's hoping to stay hidden until the ball is over," Nana said darkly. "But, her reputation is already unstable with most of the nobility and surrounding royalty. She needs to make a good impression at this ball."

"I'll set the servant children to scouring the castle," Abe said with a grin. "If she's here, they'll find her, I'd bet my life on it."

"I hope you're right."

Abe caught a girl by her elbow as she ran past them, ducking through the crowd with ease.

"Violet, tell all the children to meet me in the Secret Room as fast as they can run."

"Okay!" Violet said, not even questioning her idol's reasons.

She vanished in the teeming hallway as unexpectedly as she'd arrived, and soon the word had traveled through the palace.

* * *

"Friends!" Abe called.

The room, about the size of the royal's dining room, was packed to the limit with all the servant's children too young to have a real job. Toddlers were being watched carefully by older siblings or friends, while the older subset leaned against the back wall and watched the proceedings with all the nonchalance they could muster.

"Friends!" Abe called again, his voice carrying nicely in the unused room.

The children quieted. Before Abe drew breath to speak, he had a thought. When he'd met up with Sarah and Stephen and the others the night before, they'd told him to keep an eye out for a book. Well, a book could hide in as many places as a girl could. He'd add it to the main attraction on the off chance that a child might find it. How had Stephen described it?

"Princess Lilliana is hiding somewhere in this castle."

Whispers and murmurs stole through the room. A few tales of old hide-and-seek games played with the princesses began to be retold before the talkative ones were stared down by Abe.

"The first person to find her will have a whole hour's ride on my white pony—"

Gasps and muted cheers were accompanied by excited whispers, mostly from the girls.

"—not to mention the glory that would come from beating out the entire castle in Berensia's largest game of hide-and-seek ever recorded."

Some of the boys in the back perked up at that. Abe grinned. It was working as he hoped it would.

"Also, look out for a dark green book with gold lettering on the cover. You can have..." He considered an appropriate prize. "...a short ride on the pony if you find it. There is only one rule: do not tell any of the palace guests what you're doing. On your mark, get set, GO!"

The stampede to get out of the room almost crushed an unfortunate, bewildered nine-year-old, but her friends were good enough to pull her along with them. Abe watched them all file out and grinned again. He was willing to bet his beautiful white pony that Lilliana would be found within fifteen minutes.

He settled down for the wait.

* * *

The whispered news that Lilliana was missing finally made it to the royal chambers. Nre was beside herself. Carvin tried to calm her down, but she would have none of it.

"She has gone missing!" she said shrilly, jerking her head spasmodically, the action ripping another pin from her hair.

The servant sighed and began to re-pin for the fifth time.

"Do not move, dear," Carvin said softly. "All the servant children are searching for her. Abe is sure they will find her soon."

"How long have they been searching?"

Carvin hesitated. He'd been hoping she wouldn't ask.

"Carvin?"

She looked at him suspiciously, loosening a braid. The servant began again. Carvin kissed her cheek and rubbed her shoulders briefly.

"Stop moving. You're as bad as Linna."

"You didn't answer my question," she prodded.

"An hour," he sighed.

"And they haven't found her yet?" she said, panicked. "What will the dignitaries from Trule think?"

"Relax," Carvin pleaded, though the unpleasant thought had occurred to him, "please. I'm sure they'll find her. She's just hiding someplace – she didn't exactly want to go to this ball, did she?"

"No," Nre said, looking at him.

Her bloodshot eyes, pale, anxious face, and half-finished hair made her an intimidating presence.

"But I do not think she would run away, either."

"You never could know with Lilliana," Carvin said fairly.

"But Carvin, what if – "

"No what iffing, dearest," Carvin interrupted. "We can do nothing but wait for her to be found."

"I'm finished, your highness," the servant said.

"Thank you so much, Henrietta," Nre said, examining the twisting masterpiece in the mirror with worried eyes. "I'm sorry for being so difficult."

Henrietta smiled and squeezed Nre's hand in an unexpected gesture of warmth.

"I hope you find Princess Lilliana," she said softly, putting the hair things away and leaving the room.

Nre took a deep breath and tried to blink back tears. Carvin rubbed her shoulders slowly, kneading out some of the tension.

"Don't worry, Nre. Please."

"I love you, Carvin."

His fingers paused for a moment and a hint of a smile lingered on his taut, stressed face.

"I love you too."

* * *

Two more hours passed, and one by one the dejected children checked in with Abe, saying Lilliana was nowhere to be found, inside the palace or out.

"We've searched the dungeons, down to the last rat hole," Ram reported on his way to check up on the others in the garden.

"First floor is clear," Violet said worriedly, waiting for her friend, who was checking the sixth floor, to arrive.

"She's not on the second floor," insisted Edith.

"Or the third!" echoed her sister Eden.

They both left after that to continue searching in other areas of the castle.

By the time there was only an hour left until the ball, Abe had heard from a representative of every single area in the castle and the grounds surrounding it, all the way to the forest.

"I found the book," Gabriel said happily. "When can I ride the pony?"

He held out a green book that looked like it had been dropped and left there; some of the pages were wrinkled and dirty. Absentmindedly, Abe brushed the dirt off the pages and smoothed them before closing the book again.

"Tomorrow at noon. Where did you find it?"

"By the woods behind the iris field," Gabriel said.

"Great work," Abe congratulated. "Keep looking for the princess!"

Gabriel left to double check the turrets with some of his friends. Someone coming in to report a locked door on the eighth floor, with a half hour left until the ball, made Abe forget the book entirely. He ran out to find the key and open the door, leaving the book sitting on the dirty floor.

* * *

**What happened to Lilliana? Now that they have the book, can Gregory help them? Or will Abe remember to give it to someone? So much more to find out! Ah!**

Mazkeraide**: Updating! I hope your speculator is working this time. Black plushy carpet? That sounds lovely. Mmm. --imagines squishing new carpet between toes--**

FaylinnNorse**: I'm glad my chapter drove you to such a poetic review. I read twice and smiled the whole time. I hope you keep enjoying it!**

**Reviewers get a bowl of chips of their choice, speculators get dip of their choice.  
**


	12. Inane Revelry

**2 . 12 . 08**

**I'm updating in a rush today. I might correct some things later, and if I do, I'll be sure to let you know. I think it's right, however.  
**

* * *

Faidn gritted his teeth and halted his steps half a pace from the door.

"Come on, Uncle Fai," Ceilear said impatiently, bouncing slightly on her heels.

_I just have to get through the introduction and the royal dance, then I can go visit Rose and look for the book, and Lilliana._ he told himself. He wished he'd had more time to look for the book before the ball. When he couldn't stand the sick room any longer, he'd started to look for the book, but he'd nearly been run over by a group of children who were all looking for someone. After a bit of fast talking – they'd apparently been instructed not to tell any of the guests what they were doing – he found out that they were looking for Lilliana.

He wondered briefly why Carvin hadn't sent someone to tell him himself, but when he realized what havoc a missing princess would cause on the tentative peace, he didn't let that thought bother him any more. _Keep running your loops, Vin._

"Uncle Fai?"

"Yes, sweet," he said. "Wait a moment."

Faidn looked up and noticed that Abe was holding the door.

"Did you find anything this afternoon?"

"The princess is still missing," Abe said in a low voice, shaking his head. "I can't believe it."

"What about that book?" Faidn pressed.

"The book?" Abe said, face blank, then his eyes went wide. "Oh! A boy brought it to me an hour ago. I totally forgot; someone came up to me just after that thinking they might have found Lilliana."

"The book is very important," Faidn said insistently. "It's going to help Rose! Bring it to me as soon as you can get away."

"I will," Abe promised, then glanced inside. "Ah! Go on in before you're late."

Faidn walked into the ballroom hastily, mind spinning with the recent news. The book had been found! _I should have had him give it to Gregory,_ he thought, too late to say anything. _Oh well. If all goes well, Gregory and I will be leaving at the same time._

"General Faidn O'Neil escorting Princess Ceilear Tiroe," the announcer said. The room bowed as one.

Faidn led Ceilear to the dais where they joined the rest of the royal family. The orchestra picked up the tune they had been playing before the royals' entrance, and as it played, Faidn thought he heard a few people whispering Lilliana's name while looking around. Carvin and Nre were in for a long night.

They were both smiling, but Faidn could see that they were very worried. Carvin was probably worried about the Trule dignitaries, and Rose, and Faidn thought he looked somewhat mad as well, which was odd. Carvin hardly ever got mad. Faidn supposed the Lilliana might deserve it, though, for hiding at such a time as this.

Nre was probably worried about Rose, but more predominantly worried that her daughter had been consumed by a wild animal or something, which was hardly likely, as she'd only been missing for a few hours. Informing her of this would not allay her fears, however, so Faidn decided to stay out of her way instead.

No one was dancing yet – Alphonse and Marlita would start dancing first, followed by Carvin and Nre with Ceilear and Faidn, before the guests would join.

When the orchestra began a new song, a lively one, Alphonse and Marlita started to dance. Carvin nodded at Faidn, then he and Nre went onto the floor; Faidn took the hint and he led Ceilear out as well. They began to dance, Faidn guiding her subtly in case she got caught up in the excitement and twirled clean away, but she never did.

While they danced, Faidn looked around the room. He spotted the Trule dignitaries easily by their flashy uniforms of gold and royal blue. They were all looking at him. He stared right back at the most important looking one until the man looked away.

_Vin wasn't kidding. These soldiers are paranoid._

The dance was over in a moment. Faidn bowed.

"Thank you for the honor, milady."

Ceilear smiled at him and curtsied majestically.

"It wath my pleathure, good General," she said seriously.

Faidn was opening his mouth to make some sort of excuse to the adorable blonde girl, but was saved the trouble when a young boy stepped up and asked her to dance. If his mind hadn't been otherwise engaged in finding the best door to leave by, he might have glared at the boy for a moment, to scare some sense into him.

As it was, he took advantage of that distraction by slipping back through the crowd and edging along the back wall.

"What a lovely eve—"

"—new dress?"

"Why, yes—"

"Lady Geraldine looks—"

"—Lilliana, do you think?"

"Probably feeling ill—"

"I hope this peace—"

"—Trule soldiers handsome—"

"Champagne?"

Faidn lifted his eyes from knee level – a safe place to rest them, he had learned – and found a server between him and the door.

"Sure, thanks," he said, not wanting to appear rude.

He took a glass of champagne and took a sip while the server moved on to someone else. It was good champagne, he decided, as he set it down. It would taste better if it wasn't being served at a ball. _Almost there..._ the door was getting closer and closer. He glanced around the room and located his three targets.

Dignitary one: talking with Carvin.

Dignitary two: talking with Alphonse.

Dignitary three might be making his way toward him... _Ah, no._ He was dancing.

_Excellent._

He put his hand on the door handle and started to pull it open, thanking the lucky stars for his easy escape.

"General!"

Faidn looked over his shoulder, cursing his misfortune, and saw Abe running toward him. Before he'd made it to Faidn, he tripped over someone's foot and smashed into a server, knocking the tray of champagne glasses out of the server's hands. There was a second of silence, then a resounding crash as both men and all the glass hit the ground. Faidn winced. The music stopped with a squeak, and the room grew quiet as everyone peered around, trying to locate the source of the clamor.

"I'm so sorry," Abe said, standing up and flushing with embarrassment.

Glass crunched under his feet and a steadily spreading puddle of champagne started reaching toward the nearest bystanders. Ladies scrambled back with cries of alarm. The Trule that had been dancing was eying the proceedings warily; he'd somehow made it to the front of the crowd.

"As you should be," the server said in a low voice that Faidn only just heard.

Abe looked fit to die on the spot. Faidn felt sorry for him, until Abe spotted him and scurried over, splashing in the puddle of champagne.

"Here's your book," Abe said, handing the book to Faidn.

Faidn took the book and put it inside his coat, painfully aware of what this would look like to the Trules: a book of strategy, a book with messages hidden in it, a book that detailed Trule's gory and unfortunate demise. He wanted to shake Abe until his teeth rattled, but, fairly, Abe had done nothing wrong. He was only doing what Faidn had asked.

_I just didn't realize what a problem that would be._

"Get out of here," Faidn said in a low, tight voice. "You need to get cleaned up. And, try not to look suspicious."

Abe ducked out of the ballroom as fast as he could. The Trule dignitary closest to Faidn stared at him levelly, a stare that Faidn returned without flinching. Servants had already mopped up the mess, and the music soon began again. He scanned the room after a safe interval had passed and found Duchess Livington slipping through the crowd with astounding alacrity – in his direction. Only then did he remember her order to dance with fifteen ladies "of lighter beauty" before the night was out.

_Bother her,_ Faidn said, in no mood to play the Duchess' games when he had the book that could save Rose being of no use whatsoever in his coat. However, he had no desire to confront the Duchess while he was trying to unobtrusively leave the ball. So, he looked around quickly.

"Blonde, blonde, blonde..." he muttered, then zeroed in on a short blonde lady an arm's length away. He stepped in her direction lightly. "Excuse me, my lady. Would you care to dance?"

The woman, who was in the middle of saying something, looked like she might make a rude remark, but then her eyes traveled over him and her face broke into a smile.

"Why, General O'Neil. What a pleasure."

She took his arm, and he led her to the dance floor in time for a slow dance. He looked over her shoulder and saw an appeased Duchess. He sighed in relief.

"What brings you out this way for the biggest ball in the country?" the lady asked.

"A favor for an old friend," he said, smiling.

_How do the nobles do it? They're always smiling when they feel like yelling. I've only been doing it for a half-hour, and I already hate it._

"The prince?" the lady guessed, smiling.

"An old friend," Faidn repeated. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Lady Sophia," the woman said. "And I know you, of course. Everyone knows you. You look very fetching in that uniform, General."

"Your dress is... wonderful," he said after a brief pause, momentarily distracted by the fact that the three Trules were talking with each other.

He wasn't sure that was a good thing. _How long do these dances last?_ It felt like the book was burning a hole in his coat. He could feel it bump his side with every turn.

"Thank you," she said with a wide smile.

The song ended soon after that, and when Faidn was sure no one was looking at him, he tried moving toward the door again. A Trule met him at the door as he started to open it.

"Going off to war council, General?" the man said under his breath.

The book weighed a thousand pounds in his coat. These Trules were very irritating.

"I just need a breath of air," Faidn said with a polite smile, pulling the door open.

"The room is stuffy," the man said, and stepped out with him.

After a minute of taut silence, they both returned to the room.

_Plan one, failed. Plan two: give the book to Gregory. It looks like he'll be able to get out before I will._ The dignitary lingered by his side for the length of another song before a Mollnian Prince saved Faidn by engaging the Trule in conversation. Faidn could have sworn the man tipped him a wink over the Trule's shoulder, and Faidn grinned.

He spotted Gregory not too far away and dove into the crowd once more. _It's a battlefield, Fai. You're under cover, and you've got to get this message to the captain without being intercepted by the enemy generals._

He moved stealthily, sliding around groups of people and behind others, always careful to keep the Trules in his sights. None of them had spotted him yet. He reached the spot where Gregory had been a moment before, but the man was gone.

_Where did he go?_

He peered around the room, trying not to look too suspicious, and located Gregory slipping out the door. The man gave an apologetic wave and indicated that he should get out as soon as possible.

_That's all well and good, _Faidn thought with mounting frustration. _I'll just skip out, and wave at the Trules as I go. Fantastic._

He saw Duchess Livington glaring at him again and expelled a sharp breath. _As if the foreigners weren't enough, I've got people from Berensia moving against me._ He started to search for a blonde, but blinked when he realized one had appeared right in front of him.

"Good evening, General."

"Ah, er, good evening," he said, more than a little caught-off-guard. _Where did she come from?_ "Would you care to dance, milady...?"

"Lady Barbara. It would be an honor," the woman said, winding her arm around his.

They eased into the dance with minimal difficulty, Faidn looking around for an escape route. Whenever he began dancing toward a door, one of the dignitaries would move casually toward it as well, and nonchalantly push back his waistcoat to show the jeweled hilt of an ornamental knife. Faidn was having trouble keeping enough of his mind on the dance to avoid stepping on Barbara's feet.

"Are you alright, General? You look preoccupied," Barbara said. "Perhaps you'd like to take a breath of air on the terrace?"

"No, I'm alright. My mind is elsewhere tonight. I'm sorry," Faidn said, smiling at her as best he could.

She looked disappointed, though Faidn wasn't exactly sure why. When the dance was over, he returned to his surveying point at the back of the room. _Plan two, failed. Plan three: ask a server to take the book to Gregory._ He was starting to run out of ideas, but he wouldn't let himself think of that. There had to be a way to get the book to Gregory and help Rose, even if he had to draw his own ornamental sword and fight someone!

_No, don't do that,_ he chastised himself. _You've got to remember Carvin in this._ He looked over at his friend who was dancing with Nre. They were both still smiling, but Carvin caught his eye and gave him an intense look. He was worried that Faidn was going to mess something up. _Not an altogether invalid worry,_ Faidn had to allow.

He tapped a server on the shoulder, reaching into his pocket to give him the book, but a voice behind him made him pause.

"Are the servers messengers, too?"

The Trule that spoke walked up to his side and looked down on Faidn dangerously. It was the same one from earlier, taller than Faidn with a head of thick brown hair.

"I just wanted an appetizer," Faidn said, though they both knew it to be a lie.

He took an appetizer and chewed it without tasting it.

"Of course, General O'Neil," the man said, taking one as well.

Faidn took one more before the server walked away and took out all the fury he was feeling by chewing the devilled egg to a pulp. The Trule stuck close beside him as he wandered the ball floor, deferring any requests to talk with smooth excuses. Having the Trule so close grated on Faidn's fraying nerves. He couldn't so much as touch his coat without the Trule putting a hand on his knife.

_And while I'm playing mind games with nobility, Rose could be dying,_ he thought angrily. _While I have the thing that could help her!_

In desperation, he turned to the Trule.

"If you'll excuse me, I must dance. My feet are itching for another turn about the floor," he said, smiling and using his most polite tone.

He bowed and turned away as the Trule began to speak, and found himself face to face with another blonde.

"Would you care to dance?" he said quickly.

"It would be an unparalleled pleasure," she said, beaming, and took his hand.

Faidn began to wonder if it was only coincidence that the Duchess' prescribed beauties were there whenever he needed them. As they danced, he located the Duchess. She looked smug as she smiled at him.

"What is your name, milady?" he asked the woman.

"Lady Virginia," she replied.

"Lady Virginia, tell me honestly; did Duchess Livington ask you to dance with me?"

"Duchess Livington?" she said, laughing. "That old bat? No, I don't talk to her if I don't have to. She's a bothersome old hen. Why would I take orders from her?"

"I don't know," he mused, but this situation was not nearly as urgent as the other, so he let it drop for the meantime.

Another idea occurred to him. _The servant's entrance! Now, where is it..._ He looked over her shoulder while they circled slowly, watching for a server to seemingly disappear through a wall. Near the end of the dance, he finally found it. He was sure to exit the dance floor in the direction of the servant's door, trying not to attract any undue attention. The Trules were standing nearer the other two main doors, leaving that section of the wall unguarded.

Slowly, he backed toward it, nodding and smiling at any comments directed toward him.

"Hello, General!"

"It's wonderful to see you here, General."

"General! What a lovely surprise!"

"You should come to the balls more often, General."

"Won't you dance with my niece, General?"

He was about to politely decline, but he recognized the voice. He'd lifted his eyes without realizing it, and Duchess Livington took that as an affirmation.

"Splendid! Agathea, come here at once!"

"Duchess, I'd rather not dance at the moment," he said quickly, hoping to circumvent her proposal. "My feet are a bit tired. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to stand here a bit."

"It's not the same to me," the Duchess said. "You're a young thing. You can dance more than one dance in a row. I've been watching you, General. You've hardly danced all evening. Now, Agathea is a wonderful girl and a superb dancer."

A girl with strawberry blonde hair joined the Duchess, smiling nervously at Faidn's shoes.

"Duchess—"

"I'll not take no for an answer," the Duchess interrupted, putting Agathea's hand on Faidn's arm.

Faidn led the girl onto the floor, fuming at his close call. Agathea didn't say anything, which suited Faidn just fine. _I hope the Trules didn't notice me over there. The Duchess has a voice that carries like a trumpet._ He located the Trules one at a time while they danced, and was seething when he saw that one had gone to stand by the servant's entrance.

When the song was over, he gave Agathea back to the Duchess, and she immediately handed him another blonde. The book, completely useless, stayed in his coat pocket. He hardly looked at the woman he was dancing with. When that dance was over, he noticed the decorations: roses. There were roses everywhere.

He could have screamed.

* * *

**Mazkeraide: Clearly. --stifled grin-- Read herself out of the book? Like **_**Inkheart?**_** Interesting.**

**Warriorette: I suppose you shall see, won't you? --grin--**

**Bingo7: YAY! You reviewed! Ah, yes, missing pages... those wouldn't be good, would they?**

**Forever Dreaming: Good job; you caught that. --smile-- Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up at night...**

**EVA: Huzzah! I love your wise insights! Oh, very good thoughts about the timing of the Aside. I'd have to personally support your latter guess. As for Faidn... I shall have to let your own observation be your answer. Enigma and lone ranger are both wonderful terms to describe him. I might have to use those. Oh, good catch on Derwin's words. Excellent. Hide and seek is fantastic. What a lovely game.**

**Reviewers get a roll of Lifesavers. Speculators, the gummy variety. Mmm.**


	13. Leap of Faith

**10 . 12 . 08**

**Here's some more of the ball – from a slightly different perspective.**

* * *

Iriana was enjoying herself, for the most part. She stood near the edge of the dance floor, watching all the couples dance, but her mind was elsewhere. She was worried about Lilliana, but not terribly worried. In her opinion, the princess had hidden somewhere with a good book and then fallen asleep, and would come wandering out later that evening in a daze. She was more worried about Rose, and the book that Abe had given the General – presumably the book they had been looking for last night.

Duke Renold asked her to dance, and she obliged, smiling at him, though she was busy thinking how she could help the General get the book to Gregory.

"You look lovely, Princess," he said.

"Thank you," she replied, her feet dancing of their own accord.

"It's an honor that you would come from Grendath to join us," he said. "You must be very busy."

"I'm never too busy to visit my dear friends," she said with a smile, considering and discarding several methods of retrieving the book. "I don't see the Berensian royal family often enough. And, they know how arrange a lovely ball."

"Agreed," Renold said. "Princess Nre has always orchestrated the most fantastic gatherings, the Annual Berensian Royalty Ball being no exception."

The song ended and he bowed. She curtsied, and then looked around to see where the General was, or if he'd managed to escape yet. She noticed a small gaggle of blonde girls following him as he angled through the crowd and couldn't help a chuckle. No wonder he hadn't escaped yet; the ladies were making it hard to miss him.

She felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she saw Nre standing behind her.

"Hello, Nre," she said warmly. "It is a lovely ball."

"Thank you," Nre said, then looked to Iriana's left and frowned. "Maid, remove that dead rose from the arrangement, please."

Iriana turned around and stared at the large vase full of roses. Roses in crimson, white, and butter yellow brimmed over the vase, but a single twisted rose was drooping near the bottom. She remembered how pale and sick Rose had looked that morning when she'd checked on her, and bit her lip. She turned back to her friend, but the woman didn't seem to have noticed.

"Roses, Nre?" Iriana said, wishing more than ever that she had pockets to conceal a book in, so she could be of some use.

"Oh," Nre said quietly, eyes widening. "Oh, dear." She sounded half weary and half furious.

Iriana smiled sympathetically and squeezed her hand.

"It really is lovely."

Nre didn't say anything in reply to that, but took a deep breath and changed the subject.

"Faidn is very harried right now," she told Iriana. "I'm not sure if you've noticed."

"I had," Iriana said.

"Well, I was wondering if you'd do us a favor and take him out onto the terrace or something," Nre said. "He's going to pull out his sword and start a duel if he doesn't calm down. I know he has the book that can help Rose, but right now he just has to play along with all the dignitaries and wait it out. Abe's timing was very unfortunate, but there's nothing we can do about that now."

"Oh, uh, sure," Iriana said, then laughed. "If you can pull him away from his following, I'd be happy to."

"Great," Nre said with a relieved sigh. "Thank you. The Trules won't follow him onto the terrace if he has the Grendathian Princess with him. He'll only need a few minutes."

"You're very welcome," Iriana said earnestly. "I'll be glad to do what I can to help you and Carvin with your peace endeavor."

She noticed Carvin taking the General's arm and talking to him as they walked toward where Iriana and Nre were standing. The General looked immensely agitated, and Carvin looked calm as always, though Iriana guessed that he was nervous and worried as well. Nre and Iriana waited in silence for the two men to approach them.

"Just be patient, Fai," Iriana heard Carvin say as they got closer.

"I've _been_ patient," the General said shortly.

"Good evening, General," Iriana said, curtsying.

"Evening," the General replied, only marginally polite.

Nre wasn't joking. Iriana could imagine the General drawing his sword at any moment. It was frightening. Suddenly, she wondered if going out onto the terrace with a man in such a temper was very wise, but Nre was already speaking.

"Faidn, take Iriana onto the terrace and get a breath of air. The Trules won't bother you if you go outside with a lady."

The General didn't even argue. He held out his arm and Iriana took it, then they proceeded at an easy pace toward the terrace, which was almost just behind where they were standing. Iriana could feel the Trules' eyes following them as they left. No wonder the General was so tightly wound; she couldn't imagine dealing with such hostility and suspicion for more than a few minutes.

After what felt like an age, the General opened the door leading to the roomy terrace and gestured her out first. She observed the main oval, noticing several other couples sitting on the benches around the edge. Tall hedges made the terrace almost a maze, with the main courtyard just outside the door and several paths leading further out.

Iriana led him through one of those, then gently pulled her arm out of his. She wasn't sure he noticed. He gripped the railing of the terrace with both hands and leaned out over it, gazing up at the stars without seeing them. She took that moment to observe the General. She could see why the women were chasing him; he was tall, muscular, and had a nice face when it wasn't drawn in frustration. Any further conclusions were interrupted when he began to speak, taking the book from his coat pocket.

"This is all she needs," he said, turning the book over in his hands. "And the stupid, idiotic nobility—"

He cut himself off and shook his head, hair gleaming in the moonlight.

"You do everything in circles, you nobility. Everything. You never just _do_ something yourself, you have to smile and bide your time, and pretend that everything is just dandy when it's _not._ Everything is premeditated and well thought out, just in case someone might be offended. Why can't you just do something because it needs to be done, right then? Some things can't wait hours, days, or weeks.

"Gregory needs to get this book _before_ Rose gets worse or dies, and I'm stuck here, appeasing the paranoid minds of the Trules. They'd take the book from anyone else I gave it to, and who knows if we'd get it back in time to help her. This is all totally insane! All of it! Aggh!"

He slammed his empty hand onto the railing, making Iriana jump, and glared down to the gardens below. Everything he said was something that she'd thought, but never thought to act on. He was very different from the Lords and Dukes she was accustomed to; he was refreshing.

He looked at her suddenly, eyes boring into her own. Her heart thumped loudly, whether from fear, or something else, she wasn't certain. He smiled and pocketed the book.

"I'll see you later, Iriana," he said, and swung himself over the railing.

"Wait!" she said, putting a hand on his before he started climbing down. "Where are you going?"

"Taking the book to Gregory, of course," he said, pulling himself up far enough that his head and arms were on the stone railing. She removed her hand from his.

He was smiling. It was incredible how he'd changed from the stymied, frustrated man of a few moments ago to the chipper, almost playful character he was now. Having an idea and acting on it. That's all it took to make him come alive. She wanted to be alive like that, too.

"I want to come, too," she said.

He looked taken aback, then eyed her dress doubtfully.

"You can't climb in that. I'd have to carry you."

"Could you do it?" she asked, heart hammering.

He shrugged.

"Shouldn't be a problem. Alright, then I have a very important question for you."

He shuffled his position so it was slightly more comfortable and looked her in the eyes.

"What?" she asked, looking back at him.

"Will you marry me?"

"Are you serious?" she asked without missing a beat.

"No," he said, then laughed. "But no man's going to want to marry you if you disappear off the terrace with the rogue general."

"I don't mind," she said. "If you disappear off the terrace by yourself, the Trules will think you're off to a war conference."

"Your reputation will be in tatters," he warned.

"General, I want to _do_ something," she said.

He smiled widely and opened an arm for her to climb into.

* * *

**Any thoughts?**

Lobuck**: You reviewed! Thank you! I did change it a bit, but not too awfully much, I don't think. Fallen into oblivion? Why, yes, I might have to agree with you. --severe hawkish glare-- Nonetheless, the story that you haven't written yet has a pronounced impact on his personality in this story, so you have every right to feel somewhat responsible. Sorry for disappointing; I couldn't update twice in one day.**

Darth Chocolate**: Ten times? Mercy, the poor ladies! I'm only joking, Darth; don't pout.**

Bingo7**: Really? That's such a pretty name. Ah, it seems all the fates are against Faidn tonight, hm?**

EVA**: Your idea would have worked, but I imagine the dresses to be slimmer for the women. For the girls, they're more puffy and voluminous, but as they age, the dresses get less extravagant. Those are my thoughts on the style – as it is here. Anyway: the dresses aren't conducive to book-hiding. I hope these two chapters answered your other queries/suggestions? Ceilear is a doll. I love her. --smile-- Poor Abe, indeed.**

FaylinnNorse**: Well, he's worried about Rose... remember? Amusing – good. That's what I was going for. Poor guy. No, you can't keep him! Well, not yet, anyway. I have to finish the story.**

Mazkeraide**: Or both. --laugh-- Oh, good one. Trule run by vampires. Interesting...**

**Mincemeat and pumpkin squares to those who review! (Oh, stop making faces. They're good.) If you refuse to try one, you may have some pumpkin pie.  
**


	14. Fecundity

**24 . 12 . 08**

**This chapter went through a lot to come to you. If you notice any inconsistencies, please let me know! I forgot to put a main character in an important scene, and I just added him now. I don't think I missed anything, but keep a look out.**

**Merry Christmas Eve!**

* * *

"They should be back by now," Nre worried. "I told her that a few minutes would suffice."

"Maybe they got to talking," Carvin said ambiguously, smiling at a Trule dignitary as he approached.

"That's not funny," Nre said frostily. "Really, they've been gone for almost twenty minutes. If they don't get back in here quickly..."

"Stop worrying," Carvin told her. "Hello, Lord Dougan. I trust you're enjoying the ball?"

"It's a lovely affair," the Trule said, bowing slightly. "But your general seems to have vanished, and I wish to have a word with him about our mutual border. I was under the impression that this was a ball of peace. What other business could be so urgent as to call a General away from this ball, unless it was a matter of military importance?"

"He's only stepped out for a bit of air," Carvin assured him. "He'll be back soon if you wish to speak with him."

"As you say, your highness."

The dignitary bowed again and mingled back into the crowd. Carvin grabbed a server's arm as he passed by and whispered into his ear.

"Go and search the terrace, please. When you see the General and the Princess from Grendath, inform them that their presence is required indoors."

The server nodded and went to complete his task. Carvin looked at his wife, who was staring off into space.

"What, no 'I told you so'?"

"I'm worried about Lilliana," Nre sighed. "I don't think she's just hiding. I think she's in danger somehow."

"Nre, don't be ridiculous," Carvin said, with a sharper tone that betrayed his worry about the Trules and his friend. "She's only been missing for a couple of hours. She's probably hiding somewhere, waiting for the ball to be over. She's going to have worse than a ban on books when we find her."

"_If_ she's hiding," Nre said, "but I don't think she is, Carvin."

"We have no proof to say otherwise," Carvin said. "Please stop worrying. There are more important things to worry about right now, like if Faidn really is going to make this entire peace treaty go up in flames."

"Our daughter is more important than a peace treaty!" Nre whispered fiercely.

"Nre," Carvin said tiredly, but the server returned before he could say anything else.

"They're not on the terrace, your majesty."

"What?" Carvin said, barely keeping his voice down.

He looked around to be sure no Trule dignitaries were nearby. They weren't.

"They weren't on the terrace," the man repeated.

"But that's impossible," Carvin insisted. "Look again. They're not in here. Where else could they be?"

The server left to search the terrace a second time. Carvin rubbed his eyes. He knew Faidn wanted to get away, but would he really climb off the terrace? And what of Iriana?

"Is everything alright, your majesty?"

Carvin smiled at the other Trule dignitary.

"Yes, thank you. I'm just a bit tired."

"Where is your general, my lord? I would like to speak to him."

"He went onto the terrace," Carvin said, truthfully.

He prayed the server had just missed them the first time and Faidn would be walking in any moment now with Iriana.

"He's not there, your highness," the server said quietly in his ear, but the Trule heard and looked grim.

"Well, your highness?"

The other two Trules had joined him at this point, and the people around them were starting to grow quiet. Carvin couldn't think of anything to say right away; he was angry at Faidn for leaving him like this.

"What cause is there for such impatience, Lord Ellery?" Alphonse asked pleasantly, coming to Carvin's side.

"It seems your General has gone onto the terrace and disappeared," the dignitary said dangerously.

"I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation," Alphonse assured them. "Our terrace is much like a maze. It would be hard to find anyone."

"It would also be easy to climb down," the third dignitary said darkly, "though why any _gentleman_ would stoop to such an exit is beyond me."

The situation was rapidly degrading. A voice echoed above the murmurs before Carvin could think of a suitable reply.

"Did the Princess Iriana not go with him?"

There was a long pause, then whispers started flying among the women. Carvin recognized Duchess Livington smiling after making her proclamation. Surely she thought that Faidn had fallen in love with Iriana and asked her to elope or something. _What a silly woman! _Carvin thought, _but at least she gave me an opening._ He grabbed a glass of champagne and spoke over the whispers.

"So she did, Duchess. I thought this day would arrive soon. Come! Lift your drinks! A toast to General O'Neil and Princess Braxton, and their future happiness!"

Everyone looked a little unsure, but when Alphonse and Marlita also raised their glasses, everyone else soon joined him.

"To future happiness," they all said loudly, and drank.

_Well, at least he didn't leave alone, _Carvin thought grudgingly. _I wouldn't have been able to save that. He was thinking, after all._

* * *

Faidn and Iriana ran into Rose's room, out of breath. Faidn clutched the book in his left hand and handed it to Gregory, who had been watching Rose anxiously. Gregory began flipping through the book as Faidn knelt beside Rose's bed. She didn't look any better or worse than she had that morning.

"She's doing alright," Sarah told him, sponging Rose's sweaty forehead. "She's not running a fever anymore, but she's still having terrible dreams."

Stephen had fallen asleep at the foot of Rose's bed, and Dannlin carefully picked him up.

"General, Princess," he said, nodding to each of them grimly as he left.

Despite Sarah's words, Faidn was still worried. He felt her forehead pointlessly, just to do something. It was damp, but not too warm. He looked back at Gregory.

"Is that the right book?" he asked.

"Yes," Gregory replied, thumbing the cover absently. "I can feel the magic running through it."

"Well, what have you learned?" Faidn asked.

"His name," Gregory muttered, staring at the title page. "Sorcerer F. E. Hughes. I'm not familiar with the name. Dedicated to the Braxtons."

"The Braxtons?" Iriana said, looking at him questioningly. "That's my family."

"Dedicated to the royal family of Grendath," Gregory said, looking up from the book. "That's interesting. Do you know anything about a sorcerer who had a disagreement with your family?"

"No, not specifically," Iriana said slowly. "We've always had pretty good relationships with magic workers, or so I thought."

"But, if it's a curse on the Braxtons, why did it affect Rose?" Faidn asked.

"I'm not sure," Gregory said. "All the same, Princess, you might want to keep away from the book."

It was quiet for a few minutes as Gregory started flipping through the first few pages.

"It appears to be a regular novel," he said slowly. "Perhaps not a masterpiece, but just a novel. What did you do to the book, Hughes? Oh, by jove—"

"What is it?" Faidn asked, jumping to his feet and running over to see what Gregory had found.

"Nothing, sorry," Gregory said hastily. "I just saw Princess Lilliana's name. It startled me; I didn't think it was a common name."

"It isn't," Iriana said. "That's odd."

"Wait a moment," Gregory said, frowning. "I thought her name was Julia. Now it's Lilliana. Why is that?"

He turned back a few pages and skimmed the story.

"Her name is Julia here, and here. They have a battle with the centaurs, she's hit in the head, she can't cast a protective spell because she's too weak, Deborah starts to bandage her, and there! Her name is Lilliana, right there. A few paragraphs later, her name changes again. Now it's Julia again. That's it, that's the key. What's so important about the names?"

He stared at the pages. Everyone else was silent, watching him. Rose moaned and turned in bed. Gregory closed his eyes and looked like he was concentrating. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes again.

"I think – oh, dear heavens," he said, trying to focus his eyes properly.

"What is it?" Iriana asked.

"I felt out the book's magic. It's all a big tangle, but I could feel a net. It's trapping people in the book. That's why there are different names. When someone gets trapped in the book, the name changes."

They were silent.

"Lilliana is trapped in a book?" Sarah said skeptically.

"That sounds just like her," Faidn muttered. "Is that all you can find out?"

"At the moment," Gregory said, "yes. I'll need some more time."

"Isn't there anything you can do to help Rose _now_?" he asked.

"Not at the moment," Gregory said.

Iriana put a hand on his arm.

"Be patient," she said, seeing that he was making Gregory nervous.

"Right. Patient."

Faidn took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then, his eyes snapped open and he started for the door.

"I've got to call Swana!" he said. "I should have called her right from the beginning!"

"Who's she?" Iriana asked, furrowing her brows.

Faidn considered that question with a hand on the door.

"A sorceress, of a sort," he finally decided, and strode from the room.

* * *

"Don't go to sleep. Look at me. That's it, just look in my eyes."

Lilliana struggled to keep her eyes open. The world was swimming around her. Last thing she remembered, she'd fainted by the woods behind the iris field. Someone must have found her.

"Do you know your name?"

_That's an odd question,_ Lilliana thought, then realized from the throbbing in her head that she must have hit something when she fainted. They must be testing her for memory.

"Lilliana," she murmured, eyes falling shut again.

"Eyes on me, Lilliana," the voice said sharply. "Stay awake. You've lost a lot of blood, but you'll be alright if you can stay awake."

"Blood?" Lilliana questioned woozily. "What happened?"

"A centaur got you in the fight, do you remember?"

"Uhh," Lilliana said, and she suddenly did remember.

She'd been fighting between Deborah and Francis, screaming and laying about with her sword while the centaurs attacked them with blade and magic. She'd just dropped her sword to deflect a magical attack when a russet centaur charged her and swung his blade at her head. The magic had softened the blow, keeping it from cleaving her skull in two, but it had still struck her head and gashed it.

Lilliana frowned. _Wait, what? Who am I? I thought I was— aren't I the princess? I didn't fight a centaur! I was reading a book, and Julia was fighting the centaur with Deborah, Francis, and Derwin. I'm not Julia. I'm Lilliana. Wow, what an odd dream. I must have hit my head pretty hard when I fell._

"Do you know who I am?" the voice asked worriedly.

"Is she alright?" a male voice said, coming closer.

Lilliana tried to focus her eyes on the two shadows hovering above her face. She knew instinctively that the one on the right was Deborah, and the one on the left was Derwin, though she knew she hadn't seen either of them before. She remembered them. Somehow.

"I'm not sure," Deborah said. "Lilliana, do you know who we are?"

"Deborah, Derwin," she mumbled, blinking.

Her vision was clearing and her head didn't throb as much.

"Good," Deborah said, relieved. "I was worried that your magic wouldn't heal you for a moment. Don't scare me like that! You have the locket?"

"Um, yes," Lilliana said, digging into the unfamiliar pants pocket and closing her hand around a chunky locket.

"Alright, Francis is setting up camp here," Deborah said. "Use your magic to heal yourself. I'll find something to eat."

She walked away then. Lilliana shifted her grip on the locket. _The Natalie Locket,_ she realized suddenly. _I'm carrying the Natalie Locket! This cannot be happening._

"Welcome," Derwin said after a pause.

Lilliana almost jumped. She'd forgotten he was sitting there.

"What do you mean?" Lilliana said carefully, scratching her arm.

She saw her arms in her peripheral vision and almost yelped. They weren't her arms. She held her hands in front of her face. These arms and fingers were longer and more grown-up than hers. She felt her face; it was different too. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, but it would make no noise.

"I'm sorry," Derwin said, putting a hand on hers.

"What's happening?" Lilliana squeaked. "What happened to me? Where am I? Am I dreaming?"

"You're not dreaming," Derwin said. "Do you remember the book you were reading? The Adventures of the Tyra?"

"Of course," Lilliana said importantly. "I'm on chapter twelve, but don't tell my parents. I'm not supposed to be reading until after the ball tonight. Oh! I have to go get dressed!"

She jumped to her feet and almost fell over. She was farther off the ground than she expected to be. Derwin stood up too and steadied her.

"Careful," he warned. "The new body takes a bit of getting used to."

Her head throbbed terribly again and she held onto his shoulder until it passed.

"Just tell me what's going on," she whispered. "Right now."

Derwin sighed.

"You're stuck in the book, Lilli."

"Don't be preposterous," she said immediately. "I must be dreaming. And my name isn't Lilli, it's Lilliana. _Princess_ Lilliana to you, whoever you are."

She crossed her arms and put on her noble expression, glaring at him.

"I order you to wake me up."

"Lilli, you're not dreaming, and I don't have a lot of time. The book only focuses on Deborah and Francis for a few more minutes, and there's more you need to know. I'm sorry I have to rush through this. There's another gap tonight and we can talk again."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Lilliana demanded.

Derwin took a deep breath and let it out.

"The book is describing Deborah and Francis right now. That means we can say whatever we want. In a few minutes, when Deborah comes back from foraging, we'll go back to the scripted lines, talking about the battle, and all of that. You'll become 'Julia' essentially, as you remember her. Right now, you're Lilliana. Does that make sense?"

"You're talking nonsense," Lilliana said promptly. "I must have hit my head very hard when I fainted."

"You didn't faint," Derwin said impatiently. "Look, did you wish to be Julia?"

"No," Lilliana said immediately, then she remembered. "Well, sort of. She was very brave, and I wished I was brave like that."

"That's how you got in," Derwin said. "You wished to be Julia. Here you are."

"You're crazy," Lilliana said.

Deborah came out of the woods farther to the right.

"She's back. Come on, Lilli. Let's go. She's killed a rabbit. Dinner will be ready soon."

Lilliana looked down at his outstretched hand and was about to refuse to move until he took her home, but then she took his hand and they were walking toward the camp, though she wasn't sure how that happened. She leaned on his arm for support, her head spinning again, and sat down by the fire. Her head flooded with memories that Julia had had as she sat there, and as much as she tried not to speak, she found herself joining the conversation anyway, saying words that Julia would say and continuing the story, from a slightly different perspective.

* * *

**I hope the last section wasn't too terribly confusing. If you just don't get it, please tell me! If enough people are confused, I'll overhaul the whole thing and start again. (For the second or third time. Ugh. Linna has been being a royal pest lately.)**

FaylinnNorse**: You're not dull witted! You're allowed to have unobservant moments. --chuckle-- It **_**would**_** be rather convenient – almost too convenient. I'm sure Faidn is honored to be second on your marriage list. --laugh-- And look, your names rhyme! Somewhat. I think she's decided not to update until she's finished writing the thing, which means whenever her muse decides to wake up and stop acting like a jobless bum. ****Sorry; this chapter doesn't have much info about Rose. We figure out what happened to Linna, though!**

Bingo7**: Trying new things is always fabulous. --smile-- Heh, we'll see about those two...**

Mazkeraide**: Uh oh, you speak like a picky eater. --grin-- I hope you liked them. Virtually. Interesting love triangle indeed. Iriana the Overwhelmed Princess is engaged to Faidn the Slightly Cynical General who's got a crush on Rose the Former Slave Who's Scared of Men. I'm not officially endorsing it, but that sounds like the worst triangle ever, and like I might should just burn the story while I still can. However, Cadmus insists that I write on, so write on I shall, and we will see what happens to those three.**

Warriorette**: I'm updating! Perhaps not soon, but I hope you haven't died yet.**

Darth Chocolate**: Good observation!**

EVA**: Firstly, because Cadmus is doing a hippity-hop sort of breakdance thing in my head and is going to knock something over if I don't appease him: it's **_**Faidn**_**, not **_**Faiden**_**. Good thought, and great job remembering the flashback! However, she was also younger, less mature, and used to having pretty free reign back then. Since that point, her parents and the other nobles and advisors have been thrusting all these responsibilities, traditions, meetings, and guidelines on her that she'd never even known existed, being the baby sister of a very responsible Crown Prince. It's made her a lot more unsure of herself, since almost everything she used to do is now wrong and she's still trying to relearn all these different things. So really, it's almost like she's finding her childhood again, for better or for worse! I'm glad you liked the 'roses' part, and even got the surprisingly deep part in the middle of all the pitiful laughter. Thank you! Faidn is an egalitarian, definitely. Heh.**

Forever Daydreaming**: I'm not authorized to disclose that information at this time. --zips lips-- Oh, final exams. I am sorry. I hope you're on holiday now and are thoroughly enjoying it!**

**Wow, thanks for all the reviews! Seven!**

**Reviewers get a white Christmas!**

**...**

**Okay, not really. How about an orange-creamsicle soda?**


	15. An Aside III

**28 . 12 . 08**

**Disclaimer: Mark Twain is spectacular.**

* * *

If he could just find them, he could explain. He could tell them it was a mistake. A mistake – that was for sure. A huge mistake. The heaviness of the mistake settled in his gut like bad milk. He just had to find them. He had to. He would make everything alright again. That he would not be forgiven was a truism he did not wish to think about. There was no way that he would be forgiven, but he would make it right, and then everything would be right again.

Something wet hit his hand. He wiped it on his once-clean pants without thinking, then looked over. A huge brown shaggy dog was keeping pace, looking up at him expectantly.

"Go on home," the boy said, shooing it away nervously.

The dog kept walking with him, shoving its nose into the boy's hand. He tentatively patted its dirty, crusty head, and the dog wagged its tail, hitting the back of the boy's legs. A tip of a long, flat tongue hung out of the front of its mouth and its eyes were covered in hair, giving the impression that the big dog was laughing at some joke. The boy couldn't help smiling a little.

"Alright," the boy said. "I don't like being alone, anyway. Especially not since—well, I just don't like it."

* * *

The boy and his dog traveled far together. They never found the people the boy had been looking for, but the boy never mentioned going home. Despite his silence on the topic, the dog – she was eventually named Denise – knew he missed it a lot. She could tell by the hurting look in his eyes that would appear on some nights. She kept traveling with him, all over the country, protecting him. The boy was young, perhaps twelve or thirteen, though he was tall and strong for his age. Denise prided herself on keeping the both of them out of trouble, until one day, when they decided to go to the capital.

She was ashamed to admit she's been distracted by a tidbit of food, though there _was_ a famine going on, and food was hard to come by. She barked and barked, but they didn't let her go at first. She knew the boy was in trouble, in deep trouble, but she couldn't do anything about it. When she finally found herself on the streets of the capital, she couldn't find the boy. There was another boy that called to her, and he looked like the boy, but he smelled like flowers and clean and good food, not dirt and sweat and her own dog-smell. She growled at him and ran away to find her boy.

She looked everywhere, traveling all over the country and keeping her nose on the ground in case she caught a whiff of him, but it was as if he'd disappeared. She kept running into the boy who looked like him; he called himself Prince.

* * *

**As I'm sure you've figured out by now, the Asides have been going backward chronologically, and now they've turned themselves right way 'round again. Let me know if you're still confused after the next one, but I think it's pretty self-explanatory.**

EVA**: Oh, that's alright. It's just odd, and I actually have another character (well, he's half mine) named Jeiden, who is not a pleasant one, so it was like mix of Jeiden and Faidn and I couldn't handle it. --laugh-- He's cute?! --looks at the chapter again-- Not that I protest, but why do you say that? I'm curious. I wonder, indeed... keep reading. --smile--**

Mazkeraide**: What did you call, exactly? That Linna would get sucked into the book? Yes, you did, because you're... um, 'made of awesome,' I believe it was? --smile--**

Forever Daydreaming**: Huzzah! I'm glad you're alive! And unscathed, even. Good work! That would be incredibly weird. Can you imagine? How confusing! Well, actually, Faidn left the ball a few hours after it started and never returned, so that's kind of a big deal. Heh. Especially when the country you're trying not to go to war with is highly paranoid.**

**Review! I'll give you a bag of Doritos, whichever flavor you like.**


	16. Heated Words

**31 . 12 . 08**

**Happy New Year's Eve!**

* * *

The ball continued without a hitch into the early hours of the morning. Around one in the morning, all the guests finally bid each other good night and left to begin traveling home, or else stay at the palace overnight. Carvin tried to convince the Trules to stay in the palace, but, though they were exceedingly cordial about it, they declined. Before they left, however, they made it clear that peace would remain and congratulated Carvin on his friend's engagement.

Carvin was looking forward to a nice warm bed; he was practically asleep on his feet when he exited the ballroom, Nre by his side.

"I can't believe you stuck Iriana with that irresponsible kid," Nre said as soon as the door closed behind them.

It sounded like she'd been waiting the entire evening to say that.

"Faidn's not irresponsible, or a kid," Carvin said in a measured tone. "And I was backed into a corner. I didn't know what else to say."

"You could have said they went off walking together, and left the engagement bit out," she argued.

"People would have thought the same thing," Carvin countered.

"But at least you wouldn't have said it!"

"I had to calm the Trules' suspicions, Nre. That was the best way I could think of to do it. We both know they went to help Rose, but her story was a bit far-fetched to be believable."

Nre exhaled loudly, showing her anger at the situation.

"Would it have killed him to stay at the ball a few more hours? At least until the dignitaries left?" Nre questioned irritably. "The ball really wasn't that long."

"No, it wouldn't," Carvin agreed, still somewhat annoyed at his friend, though he knew how Faidn's mind worked. "But Faidn had to get something done. He couldn't sit there and smile when Rose could be being helped."

"What would a few hours' delay do?"

"Maybe nothing, or maybe a few hours could have been the difference between life and death," Carvin said.

"Are you saying he was _right_ to leave the ball, and leave us in a lurch?"

"I'm saying I can see why he would leave, and take Iriana with him, to give a somewhat credible story."

"And completely ruin her reputation!"

"I don't think he just carried her off without consent," Carvin pointed out.

Nre folded her arms and glared at him.

"But now she's stuck marrying him, or breaking it off and spoiling any chance of a decent marriage," Nre fumed.

"You know, Faidn wouldn't make such a bad husband," Carvin said, a little testily. "For all you're going on about him, you'd think he was a lawless, violent drunkard."

"He's got no concept of reality!" Nre cried. "Everything is a game to him."

Carvin stopped walking, and Nre stopped as well.

"He's seen a lot more than you or I will ever see," Carvin said in a low voice. "He may act like it sometimes, but he doesn't take things as lightly as you think he does."

"He's still irresponsible, skittish, and basically uncivilized. Not to mention his complete disinterest in marriage. That might put a damper on things."

"He is not irresponsible!" Carvin said in aggravation. "And the only reason he's skittish is because he never knows what to expect from nobility. He's used to swords and soldiers, not balls and finery."

"If he'd come to more social events, he'd know how to work the people."

"He doesn't _want_ to work the people. He wants to help the people by keeping them safe."

"And you are totally fine with letting Iriana marry a man who wouldn't love her, would hardly come home to her, and wouldn't think twice about sacrificing his life in battle, leaving her alone?"

"The way you think, I'm surprised you wouldn't welcome his heroic death in battle," Carvin said sharply.

Nre drew herself up to full height and pointed a finger at him.

"If _you_ hadn't made such a huge deal about their engagement, none of this would be a problem."

"If you didn't have such a vendetta against my best friend, maybe you would see that he's not a bad person!" Carvin argued.

"I don't want Iriana to be forced to marry someone, no matter what kind of man he is," Nre said, glaring at him. "That's just as bad as an arranged marriage. Oh, heavens, that's what it is! It's an arranged marriage!"

"Arranged marriages aren't all bad," Carvin said.

"How can you say that?" Nre said in shocked surprise.

"In case you've forgotten, our marriage was arranged," Carvin replied.

"Arranged marriages are loveless, and often unhappy, or at least not as happy as they could have been otherwise," Nre said. "Something about someone else choosing your spouse makes it impossible to ever truly be your own. I won't condemn Iriana to that fate, especially not with Faidn."

"Sometimes other people know better," Carvin argued. "Or sometimes the chips just fall and you have to live with the consequences."

"You say that like you had nothing to do with it," Nre shot at him.

"That's not what I meant," Carvin said.

"You just don't want to take responsibility for your actions," Nre said, stepping closer to him. "You're as bad as Faidn."

"You say _he_ can't see the world clearly! _You_ don't see the world clearly!"

"You've ruined Iriana's life!"

"It's not all my fault!"

"It's not her fault!"

"Yes, it sort of is!"

"Your _friend—"_

"Oh, please don't go off on him again."

"What?" she shouted. "You can't bear to hear the truth? Here's the truth: you're both children, messing around in other people's lives and making them live out the consequences. Good night."

She turned and strode down the hall.

"Good night!" he shouted after her.

His voice trailed her, following the fleeting echoes of their shouting match. When she'd safely turned the corner Carvin growled in anger and punched the wall. His fist burned and throbbed, but the pain was a release from his frustration.

"What's this about children? Who's having children? Can I have one?"

Faidn grabbed Carvin's shoulder and grinned at him. Carvin grinned weakly back.

"I was just on my way back from calling on an old friend when I heard the last bit of your – ahem – conversation with the fair princess."

"How much did you hear?" Carvin said warily.

"Something about children and consequences. Is everything alright? Are you going to be a father again?"

"Not for a while," he muttered to himself, then took a deep breath. "Faidn, why did you leave in the middle of the ball?"

Faidn winced apologetically.

"I thought you might be a bit mad about that. I had to help Rose, Carvin. I just had to. I was going to leave Iriana, honest, but she wanted to come."

"What, do you think your leaving alone would have been better?" Carvin said edgily.

"Better for her reputation, I should think," Faidn said. "I would have been in a bit of hot water with the Trules, though."

"No, I would have been in hot water," Carvin corrected. "And, thank you, I was. You just _left,_ without so much as a wink or a nudge. I would have understood that, and I could have formulated an excuse for you before they noticed you'd left. I didn't know you were gone until the servant I told to find said you'd vanished! And by then the Trules were already breathing down my neck!"

"I didn't know I was going to leave," Faidn defended. "It didn't occur to me until I was leaning over the railing and saw the easily climb-able masonry you have off those terraces. You might consider doing something about that, by the way. Anyone could sneak in to the palace that way."

"I'll take that into consideration," Carvin said, but his tone said otherwise. "Faidn, why don't you plan ahead? That would have made this so much easier."

"Well, you thought of something, right?" Faidn said easily, but Carvin could tell he was tensing in response to the hostility.

"Not something I think you'll be happy about," Carvin said, trying to get better control of his reactions.

"It can't be too bad," Faidn said.

"You're engaged."

"I'm eng—what?! Carvin, you're joking. To who?" Faidn spluttered.

"Iriana, of course," Carvin said. "You know, the one you ran off with."

"That was a little drastic!" Faidn said, his voice rising. "You couldn't think of anything else?"

"I was pressed for time, as I've already mentioned," Carvin said, his voice on edge. "Please don't harass me about that. It's been a long night."

"It's been a long night for me, too!" Faidn argued. "Spent all day taking care of Rose, looking for the book, and looking for your daughter, then spent the evening pretending that nothing was wrong, dancing with girls that are mindless, and trying to escape so I can help my friend _who might be dying_. Then I finally get my chance, and the Princess wants to come with me, so off we go—"

"While I cover for you," Carvin pointed out. Faidn continued like he hadn't been interrupted.

"—and now I find out that everyone thinks we're _engaged!_ A princess, Vin? Just kill me now."

"She's not that bad," Carvin said in defense.

Faidn just shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm not marrying a princess, Vin. I'm not. You can tell them all it was a big misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding or not, the fact that you two ran off together—"

"I warned her about that," Faidn interrupted. "I told her it wouldn't look good."

"And you let her do it?" Carvin asked.

"She's old enough to make her own decisions and live with the consequences," Faidn said.

Carvin paused before he continued, wording his next statement carefully.

"Are you sure you didn't... insinuate that you held any feelings toward her?"

"You think I'd do that?" Faidn said in disgust. "What kind of person do you think I am? Maybe your precious nobles would stoop to that level to feed their own flagging egos, but I don't need that."

"I didn't mean on purpose," Carvin corrected hastily. "I meant, do you think she might have interpreted your actions that way?"

"How am I supposed to know how the minds of you highborn folk work?" Faidn said. "Maybe I did, but I didn't think I did. Out in the country, if you like a girl, you're clear about it. Nothing around here is very clear."

"Nobility might not be very clear, but they have a long memory. She'll be disgraced. You can't just leave her."

"Watch me!" Faidn said, starting to square his shoulders as if he was going into battle.

"Faidn, think about it! She's only twenty-five. She's got her whole life ahead of her. You can't make her live with this," Carvin tried to reason, but his hackles were rising again.

"I'm only thirty! You can't make me live with this either!" Faidn argued. "Her whole life is being a princess, and my whole life is on the battlefield. That doesn't work! This is all ridiculous. Just tell them it was a misunderstanding, we're not getting married, and we went for a walk."

"No one is going to believe that. You two never came back to the ball."

"They have to believe it!" Faidn said angrily.

"They won't," Carvin repeated. "I won't let you ruin Iriana's life."

"I won't let you ruin mine," Faidn refuted.

"Faidn, be reasonable," Carvin started.

"_You're_ not being reasonable!" Faidn shouted. "You want me to marry a princess just because you couldn't think of a better story to tell people!"

"Because you didn't warn me ahead of time!"

"I didn't know!"

"You should have been thinking!"

"I _was_ thinking!" Faidn yelled. "I was thinking of every possible way to get out of that ballroom so I could save my friend's life."

"Save her life at what cost?" Carvin shouted back.

"You think I care about the Trules more than I care about Rose?"

"You almost thrust Berensia into a war because of your little escapade," Carvin said. "A _war_. Where hundreds of people might have died: families without fathers, brothers, sons."

"Are you saying that would have been my fault?" Faidn said, clenching his fists. "I wasn't in charge of whatever it was that made them want to attack us in the first place."

"I did what I had to do; I had to do what was best for the country," Carvin said.

"And forget about your friends, sure," Faidn said, backing down. "I should have known I'd be thrown under the wagon someday."

"Faidn, I'm the prince," Carvin said angrily. "I have to think that way. If I don't, nobody will."

"What's Alphonse good for, then?" Faidn countered.

"We work together," Carvin said. "He's got a lot on his plate. He needs my help on things like this."

"At what cost?" Faidn said, mimicking Carvin's question earlier. "Ruining the lives of two of your friends?"

"If you'd just marry her—"

"That would make everything better, wouldn't it?" Faidn said loudly. "That would fix everything! It would make you look good!"

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is the point? The way I see it, if I don't marry her, the only people that would care are those stupid, gossiping nobles. She doesn't have to marry one of them! She could marry someone else! Or wait, novel concept: she doesn't have to get married!"

"It doesn't work like that, Fai."

"Then how does it work?" Faidn challenged. "I marry her, and we're both miserable, and it's your fault."

"_This is not my fault!"_ Carvin thundered. "I'm sick and tired of people blaming me for everything! This is not _all my fault! _It's _not!"_

"Well it's not all my fault!" Faidn shouted back.

"Maybe Nre was right; you are an irresponsible kid," Carvin said quietly, but the words stung.

Faidn lifted a clenched fist and Carvin looked at it.

"Go on, hit me," he said, gritting his teeth.

Faidn looked at him for a long moment, then turned around and walked away.

* * *

**I have to say that I think this is may favorite chapter to date. Poor Carvin, though. He gets it from both sides. Opinions? Was it realistic? Did the characters ring true for you?**

Mazkeraide**: They will be explained/understood to a most thorough degree at some later point in the story. Fear not, fair writer. Speaking of your writing, I'll have APOP back to you soon.**

Forever Daydreaming**: Point? Wait, they're supposed to have a point?! --cheeky grin-- Why are the Trules paranoid? Are you sure you want to know the answer? Well, here comes the history/geography lesson! Trule is the smallest country in the western part of the country. At the moment, it's currently allied to Berensia, Grendath, Sanjado, Liot, and Molln, which are the five countries surrounding it (in case you're wondering, the order of the countries was clockwise, starting from the west). Yerc, however, is allied with countries further to the west, and it's starting to convince Liot and Molln to join her, in hopes that a battle again Philettin might be avoided. Philettin, in turn, is trying to gain an alliance with Sanjado and Grendath. Trule has declared that it won't take sides, and both sides are trying to bully Trule into joining them, because their (albeit small) army is well trained and very crafty. Berensia (another country both sides are vying for) has also declared that she won't take sides, but Trule isn't convinced she won't be swayed – they have historic ties with Molln and Grendath, and Trule suspects that Berensia might play a double agent and ambush Trule if she doesn't pick a side, or if she picks the wrong side. So, the Trules are being paranoid, but for pretty good reason. They don't want to get into a war, but they know both sides are trying to pressure them in to joining, and Berensia's ties with Molln and Grendath make that possibility all the more likely. Whew. How was that for long, complicated, and boring?**

Bingo7**: Lilliana and Faidn?! Bing, do you realize that Faidn is thirty and Lilliana is eleven? That's a bit queer. --laugh--**

EVA**: Well, this part is very Prince and the Pauper-esque, which is, of course, Mark Twain's. I've not heard of **_**Adam of the Road.**_** I'll have to check it out. Yes, bringing the three threads together will be hilarious fun. --Cadmus looks up, completely tangled in a ball of string-- Er, well, if I can pull it off, that is... And ha! Your fangirly review made me laugh aloud. --chuckle-- Thanks.**

**Review! I'll give you a braided licorice rope of any three flavors you choose!**


	17. End of a Long Night

**3 . 1 . 09**

**A quick update! Enjoy! Remember to comment if you see any typos or inconsistencies; I'll give you a shout out, and you make the story better. --smile--  
**

* * *

Faidn stalked down the dark hallway, now completely out of temper. He knew if he'd stayed one more minute, he would have punched his best friend, and he might have caused permanent damage. He had the nagging feeling that he should at least go and tell Carvin what had happened to his daughter, but he couldn't bring himself to reverse his steps. He'd just tell Carvin the next time he saw him. Carvin would be furious that Faidn didn't tell him sooner, but Faidn didn't really care at the moment.

He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, but he was pretty sure he was on his way back to Rose's room. There were so many corridors it was hard to tell. He ran into someone in the dark and almost knocked the person over.

"Sorry," he said automatically, squinting to see who he'd nearly bowled over in his furious rampage.

"I should have the maids leave a few lamps lit all night long," the voice said, then inhaled. "Faidn."

"Nre," Faidn said, feeling like groaning.

Not her, not now. At least he could tell her about Lilliana and get it over with so he wouldn't feel bad.

"Faidn, how could you just leave the ball like that, and with Iriana?"

"Nre, I don't want to talk about that right now," Faidn said when she inhaled to continue. "I found your daughter. She's trapped in a book. If you want to know more, go talk to Gregory. He's with Rose."

Before she could ask him any questions, he moved past her down the hall. _Well, now I can't go to Rose without putting up with Nre. Wonderful. _After a few wrong turns, he finally made it to the outside of the castle. After an almost accusatory glance at the skies, he started wandering along the paths, alone with his tangled thoughts.

* * *

The room was solemn when Nre swept in, still wearing her evening gown. It was evident that her panic was only thinly disguised by her propriety, so after a pointed nudge from Iriana, Gregory carefully explained to her all that they knew; Lilliana had somehow been trapped in the same book that had put Rose to sleep, and he was still trying to work out how, or if, she could be retrieved. Nre's face paled, but showed no emotion.

Sarah kept her eyes down, tending to the feverish Rose, and Stephen was barely visible kneeling beside her. (He'd coming running back into the room several minutes ago.) Iriana patted Nre's hand gently and tried to console the blank-faced woman.

"She'll be alright, really," Iriana said, nodding as if to convince herself as well. "Faidn's gone to get a sorceress friend of his. I'm sure she'll be able to sort this out, and Linna will be back in no time at all."

"Running off, as always," Nre muttered, her face hardening into one of anger – anger that was, perhaps, misdirected. "That seems to be his answer to everything, no matter the garboil he brings down on everyone else."

Iriana bit her lip and looked at the ground. She'd never heard Nre speak so scathingly of someone before, and she wasn't sure what to say.

"Did he tell you the mess he made, convincing you to run off with him like that?" Nre asked, her voice becoming shrill. "Not that my husband is completely innocent."

"No, he didn't," Iriana said softly, then chuckled weakly and attempted to lighten the mood. "I didn't think that would go over so well."

"No, it didn't!" Nre cried. "Thanks to that pair of dunces, the country thinks you and Faidn are engaged."

"What?" Iriana said, her face twisting into an expression of confused shock.

"That would be my husband's doing," Nre said. "He just says what comes to mind, with no thought for your reputation when you break off the engagement."

Iriana forced back a particularly unpleasant image of her mother's face when she heard the news. Nre's last statement was directed more at herself, and she began pacing the floor, anger creasing her brow, muttering about her husband's stupidity. Iriana stared at the wall in mild horror, her mind temporarily distracted from both Linna and Rose because of this unexpected situation. Rose started breathing rapidly and her temperature began to spike again, causing Sarah to reach for more wet cloths and try vainly to calm her down.

Stephen took advantage of everyone else's distraction and sidled up next to Gregory, whose full concentrating was alternating between reading the book and feeling the book's magic in an attempt to identify the exact spells.

"Can you get her out? Linna?" Stephen asked, nearly scaring Gregory silly.

"I don't know," Gregory replied honestly, then began to explain exactly what he was doing and what he hoped to do.

He'd never been one to coddle children, as the only children he'd ever interacted with had been servant children or noble children. The former would smile and nod knowledgeably no matter what was said; this gave Gregory the impression that they heard and understood every word that he said, when in truth their minds were often far elsewhere.

The latter were polite and well educated, and they could thus have a reasonable conversation on just about any topic an adult could. If any child was fidgety, rude, or in any way childlike, the adults were careful to keep him out of sight. It can easily be forgiven Gregory, then, his limited knowledge of children raised with a healthy imagination and a very short attention span.

Gregory treated Stephen the same way he would treat any adult. This made Stephen feel very grown-up and important, even when Gregory's megillahs far overreached the limits of interesting and wandered into the confusing or boring. However, Gregory didn't seem to notice when Stephen stopped paying attention as he was getting to the part about hoping Swana could untangle the individual spells.

Then the man stopped suddenly and switched thoughts.

"I wish I could think of the difference between the Princess and Rose," he said.

Gregory's change in tone made Stephen stop trying to make a shape out of the stain on the wall by Rose's bed and pay attention.

"Auntie Rose is grown-up and not very fun sometimes, and Linna is littler," Stephen said helpfully.

"Yes," Gregory acknowledged. "But Rose is sleeping, and the Princess is in the book. Why would the same book do two different things?"

Stephen pulled his feet toward him quickly before Nre trod on his toes.

"Maybe Auntie Rose didn't have a good enough imagination," Stephen declared. "Maybe Linna just imagined herself in, like make-believe!"

"Maybe," Gregory said, but he didn't look convinced. "But I'm not sure. I think it's more complicated than that."

Stephen shrugged and put his chin on his knees, watching Nre's frenzied pacing.

* * *

Carvin walked down the hallway toward Rose's chamber, deciding to check on her one last time before checking the state of affairs in his own bedroom. When he opened the door, he found himself almost knocked back into the hallway by his distraught wife.

"Oh, Carvin, Linna," Nre whimpered, holding him so tightly he had trouble catching his breath. All earlier enmity seemed to have been forgotten, for now.

"I'm sure she's fine," Carvin said, putting his arms around her protectively and looking around for someone to tell him what was going on.

Nre's mein reminded him of the days following Cameron's death, and his heart began beating in icy rhythm. He forced himself to remain calm as Gregory cleared his throat and quietly told him all that they knew. Nre's hand found his, cold and clammy with anxiety. He unconsciously rubbed it between his two warm ones as Gregory finished.

"My daughter has been magicked into a book?" Carvin said, to clarify. His voice was quavering slightly, but he looked otherwise composed.

"Yes," Gregory replied, putting the book down beside him – Stephen had spirited back to his mother's side sometime after Carvin entered the room – and rubbed his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't do very much. I may be an scholar, but I can't untangle these spells; we need a real magic worker. General O'Neil said he'd gone to find a friend of his."

"Swana?" Carvin asked, holding Nre's hand firmly with one hand and rubbing slow circles on her back with the other. Her face was still buried in his shirt, and he could feel her hot breath on his chest.

"I think so," Gregory said. "Do you know how long it would take her to arrive?"

"It would depend on where she was," Carvin said with a faint suggestion of a smile.

He then dropped his chin to talk in Nre's ear.

"You need some sleep, dear," he said.

She looked at him and shook her head.

"I need to be here in case Swana arrives."

"I don't think she'll be coming tonight," Carvin said carefully.

Nre just shook her head again, and Carvin was too tired to argue. He pulled two chairs from Rose's small dining room and set them by the door where they settled in for the night, both of them still in formal dress.

* * *

Faidn slipped mostly unnoticed into the room some time shortly after dawn. Nre had fallen asleep with her head on Carvin's shoulder, her fingers laced through his. Carvin, in turn, had fallen asleep with his head on Nre's. Gregory had the book in one hand and his chin in the other, glasses still perched on his snub nose though his eyes were closed. Iriana had fallen asleep against the end of Rose's bed, next to Stephen, who had his head on his mother's arm. Sarah looked up when Faidn entered the room, but then directed her attention back to Rose.

"She's not any worse," she said softly, shifting Stephen's head from her arm to the bed. He breathed deeply, then sighed and kept sleeping. "She's still tossing and turning, though, and she's too warm. The doctor says he can't do anything for the fever unless she wakes up. The best thing to do is keep putting cool cloths on her forehead."

Her voice cracked and Faidn stepped around Iriana, putting a comforting hand on Sarah's arm.

"Thank you for staying with her during the ball, and all night," Faidn said. "I'm sorry you had to be here alone."

"I'm hardly alone," Sarah said, managing a hoarse chuckle.

"None of these people were here during the ball," Faidn replied.

"You had to go to the ball," Sarah said, shaking her hand. "Stephen and Dannlin stayed here with me. I told Dannlin to go home before the ball was over, though. He has clean up in the ballroom tomorrow."

"Today," Faidn corrected. "The sun rose."

"I hate not having windows," Sarah said, frowning. "It's like we're trapped in a nightmare."

"Go get some sleep," Faidn said. "You've been in here all day and all night."

"I'm fine," Sarah insisted, but his mentioning sleep provoked a yawn.

"Go," he ordered her, quietly, taking the cloth from her. "And take Stephen with you."

Sarah wordlessly picked up her son, his head coming to rest in the crook of her neck. He was almost to heavy for her to lift, now. She closed her eyes, wondering what she would feel if anything happened to Stephen.

"I think he blames himself for what happened to Rose," Faidn said.

Sarah shook her head and smiled.

"He's such a sweet boy sometimes."

"Good night, Sarah."

"Don't stay up all day," Sarah said warningly. "Don't think I don't know you haven't slept either."

"Yes, marm," Faidn said, saluting crisply.

Sarah smiled, her eyes sparkling with unloosed laughter, and left the room. Faidn lowered his hand and turned back to Rose.

* * *

**Faidn is such a bother sometimes. He's not too fun when he's worried about Rose all the time. --heavy sigh-- Oh well. It's sort of a filler chapter, but I hope you liked it.  
**

EVA**: I agree. The Trules deserve it more. Several of your comments are spot on – the Trules aren't taking the story as easily as Carvin hopes they will, and you'll see that in the next chapter or so. I think it's nineteen, actually. I just finished that one. I know, I post behind what I write. I find it takes more time to answer reviews than I usually have when I have time to post something, so as a result it takes far longer to post than it takes me to write. So now I'm trying to answer my reviews as they come in – sort of. I don't mind a chapter of cushion space for posting, but writing two or three chapters ahead of what you all are seeing just confuses me, because I forget what you do and don't know! Anyway, back to your review: I'm so glad you seem to have caught all the little tensions and reasonings behind how they acted that I was so afraid everyone would miss! On an ordinary day, both fights would be rather out of character for all three people involved, but all the events and stressors of the day, in combination with the very late hour, the missing Princess, the sick friend, and the unexpected difficulty of an assumed engagement, it actually makes sense. Whew. I was worried I would have to explain everything. Silly me; I have such observant readers. What was I worried about? You are very right. Hopefully everything will work out. **

**Terriot is, in relation to Berensia, a little south and very west. It's past Trule, Liot, Ladyra, and Philettin. The time frame, in relation to I Do, is many years later. If you'll recall, I Do is concurrent with SHOE, which is almost directly after Nasap. (The beginning of SHOE, where Faidn is kidnapped, is actually happening at the same time as Carvin's honeymoon, if that gives you a better idea of the timing.) So, if Faidn is seventeen there, and thirty here, and Rod is thirty in I Do, then Rod is forty-three now, and Roddy II is twelve or so. So, Roderic is still ruling, Katharine's died, he's probably remarried by now, since she will have died 2.5 years prior to that. Whew. Yes. Is that enough info? That made my brain hurt. Yes, Rijhad was at war with Philettin, and part of Katharine's dowry, of sorts, was Terriot joining the fight. Philettin is west of the cluster of countries, bordering Sanjado on the northeast and Ladyra on the east. It borders Rijhad in the north. Unfortunately, poor Rod is once again orchestrating a war with Philettin, which would be why he's frantically pulling strings, trying to get more of the eastern countries to ally with him and hopefully intimidate Philettin well enough that they'll surrender before more lives need be lost. **

**In case you're wondering why Ladyra isn't entering into any of this royal mess (pun not intended) it's the universally neutral country on the continent. Sort of the Switzerland of my world, if you will. In addition, however, it's also the flag country, of sorts, of the continent. The continent, for example, is named Ladyra. The country of Ladyra is like a safe haven for anyone, holding independent 'courts' of a type for injustices from any country. While the rulings technically have no legal bearing on the decision of courts in the citizens' home country (or countries), most countries consider Ladyral decisions very carefully before refuting them. It's the center for most large peace talks or international efforts not having to do with war. That's more than you've ever wanted to know about a country that doesn't even exist, but I got carried away. I have a lot of backstories that will never get told, and occasionally one or two of them fall out. Back to your review!**

**Yerc is to the southwest of Berensia – past Molln. Berensia, Grendath, and Sanjado are just where you say, but Liot actually has a very large border with Trule, because Trule sort of juts into Liot almost. So, it's from about 2 o'clock to 5h45, and Molln is more like 6 o'clock. Berensia has a huge sea border – it's on the very western tip of the continent. A lot of the border is covered by the Western Wood though; only the northern and southern sea borders are really usable. Grendath also has a northern sea border, and Molln has a southern sea border. Yerc does as well. You know, if I thought it would be at all readable, I'd put the very crude, pixely map I have on my computer (the one I always refer to when I'm trying to figure things out with countries) up as my avatar, but I think the picture would be too small. If you want me to try it, I will. Perhaps I could just put the western part up? I'm not sure. What do you think?**

FaylinnNorse**: I actually thought about that, but then I sat there with my fingers poised over the keyboard and realized that I had no idea what Carvin would say. I think he'd be too hurt and stunned by the remark to say anything about it then. Don't think it won't come up again, though. It may have gone unremarked there, but it will crop up again. That really hurt Carvin – and for good reason! Nre's going to have to say something about it. I'm glad the fighting was entertaining. It was really entertaining to write. I've been updating fast? The time has been muddling together recently – ever since the holiday season started, so I really have no good concept of time at all. I almost feel like it's been, simultaneously two days and two weeks between chapters. I'm glad I'm not falling behind, anyway, for all my forgetting to post.**

Bingo7**: Oh, good. I was hoping you were not serious. Bing is the first thing that fell out of my fingers in my horrified incredulity, but I like it too. It has a nice (dare I say it?) ring to it. Ah, that was a terrible pun. Let's pretend that didn't happen. Yeah, awkward situations aren't fun. And they're awkward to write! Which is less fun! Happy New Year to you, too. I hope you had a great New Year's Eve.**

Mazkeraide**: It does throw a bit of a monkey wrench into the works, doesn't it? Heh. Actually, I fought myself for several minutes over that one. I really, **_**really**_** wanted him to say, "To whom?" because it is, of course, grammatically correct. However, this is Faidn O'Neil, the boy who grew up in school only because Carvin was there, and if it wasn't for him, he'd have played hookie the entire time. He's a bit of a horseman, and a general, which didn't really call for a whole lot of generic schooling. He probably had some military training post-SHOE, pre-Jab, but I doubt he'd recall the difference between 'who' and 'whom' or even really care. So, even though it killed me, I let Faidn say, "To who?" because it was dialogue, and that's what my beloved, under-educated general would say. It hurt, Mazzie. It hurt. Okay, I'm done whining. On to the rest of your review. Oh, actually, for the rest of your review, EVA asked the same question, so up there in those four whopping rambling paragraphs, I answer your question. --checks-- It's midway through the second paragraph. **

**Thanks to the few who reviewed! I appreciate your support and questions – you guys make me think. Have you ever wondered if I'd run out of cyber-food? I have. Let's see, what shall I give today...**

**Reviewers get a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! (I'd stay away from the yellowish-brown ones. Earwax, so I'm told.)**


	18. Just Pretend

**2 . 2 . 09**

**Has it really been a month? Good word. Have this long-overdue update with my apologies.**

* * *

Lilliana woke up the next morning to smoke blowing in her face. Her first thought was that the palace had somehow caught fire, but when she snapped her eyes open in panic, opening her mouth to scream, her eyes registered green weald instead of the lucullan furnishings in her bedroom. She blinked rapidly, and Julia's brain kicked in, registering where she was, what day it was, and where the smoke was coming from; Francis was starting a campfire.

"Francis, warn a body, would you?" she heard her voice say.

She noticed suddenly that it was lower and richer than her normal voice – just another facet of her new body. She pulled the scratchy blanket off of her and stood up, stretching. There was more of her to stretch now. Julia's mind prodded her to check out her head injury with magic, and Lilliana's eyebrows shot up. She could use magic! She'd totally forgotten! Trying to remember how it worked, Lilliana carefully edged a few strands of magic onto her scalp and assessed the damage. It was healing nicely. Lilliana grinned; this magic thing would be _fun._

"Is your head getting better?" Francis asked in a quiet voice, one that sounded like a distant tunnel's collapse. It was much more frightening than she'd imagined.

"It's practically healed," she said, pulling the magic back from her head. "Where's Derwin? And Deborah?"

"Deborah's scouting ahead," Francis said, putting a kettle of water over the fire. He pointed into the woods as he said the next sentence. "Derwin's trying to find some roots or berries for the road. We're getting closer. Only a few more days and the Natalie Locket will be safe with its rightful owner."

Lilliana nodded and fingered the locket in her pocket, noticing the slightly raised patterns.

"I'll go help Derwin," she said, striding off into the woods. _I have a lot of questions to ask about magic,_ she added in her head, smiling.

She played with the magic as she went, using it to find where Derwin had just been by flinging it out in strings to touch trees and undergrowth. She felt a pressure and saw a fleeting image of Derwin as he passed that spot whenever she touched something with her magic that he had brushed up against. She was so distracted by her curiosity and excitement that she didn't notice Derwin until she ran into him face-first. The roots and berries he'd been holding scattered everywhere.

"Wait, let me try!" Lilliana said, holding up a hand.

Derwin stopped reaching for the roots, glad she wasn't screwing up her face and stomping her foot again. He watched as she closed her eyes and reached out a hand, then made the roots and berries gather together and drop into his arms.

"Your magic seems to be in order," Derwin observed. Lilliana made a face dangerously like a pout – she'd evidently been expecting praise. Derwin quickly changed the subject. "How's your head."

"Fine," she replied. "It doesn't hurt any more. Are you done? Can we go? I want to get to the castle as fast as we can so I can see Marsha. She sounds beautiful."

"Don't you have any more questions about the book?" Derwin asked, slightly puzzled at her ebullience.

"Just one," Lilliana conceded, twirling a strand of magic around a nearby squirrel's tail. It scampered away. "When do I have to go home?"

"Weren't you just demanding that I take you home last night?" Derwin reminded her, starting to walk back to the campsite.

"Are you joking? Derwin, this is an adventure! A real live adventure! I want to fight Roger and save Marsha and put the locket on the statue of Dray! Don't you want to be a hero?" Her eyes were bright.

"What about your family?" Derwin asked her.

"They probably didn't even notice I'd left," Lilliana said, twirling two pebbles around in the air.

Derwin opened his mouth, but decided not to say anything. They walked in silence for a moment, Lilliana easily keeping pace with Derwin with her long legs. Derwin was short, he thought. Before he'd entered the book, he'd been fairly tall. It was odd to look straight into a woman's eyes instead of down into them.

"What were—are you the princess of?" Derwin asked abruptly.

"You've not heard of me?" Lilliana asked curiously, letting the pebbles fall.

"I've been in the book for a while," he said by way of an answer, shifting the small pile in his arms.

"Berensia," she replied. "Surely you've heard of that."

"Berensia?" he asked, smiling as if it was funny. Lilliana didn't notice, though. She was tickling a swallow with a bit of magic. "Nice country, from what I hear."

"And you?" Lilliana questioned politely. "Where are you from?"

"Somewhere you'll not have heard of," Derwin said. "Would you like to help Francis with the fire, now that you have a handle on your magic? We don't have time to eat anything, but he'd appreciate some help to boil the water for tea."

"Oh, yes!" Lilliana cried, jumping a few inches into the air. Even the thought of skipping breakfast did not dampen her mood.

Derwin had to smile – it had been too long since he'd been around any children. Even a child in a young adult's body was refreshing. Children were good at finding little things to be excited about. Maybe she could find the secret to getting out where he never could. Derwin frowned again in thought. Lilliana used magic to weave a coronet of tiny white flowers. She placed it on her head and looked back at him, smiling, blue eyes shining. He did his best to smile, the only thought echoing in his brain, _I hope we find it – before it's too late._

* * *

The next few days were spent looking after Rose and warding off questions about the missing Crown Princess.

"She's just not feeling quite herself," Nre said again and again, "but thank you for your concern."

Carvin and Faidn agreed to have Rose moved from her room downstairs to the small sick room on the third floor, where she could be under the watchful eye of a doctor at all times. This made Sarah feel a bit better about leaving her; she had to get back to work into kitchens. It also cut down on the number of curious servants who were forever popping in and out, giving advice or consolation.

Carvin was still trying to firmly convince the Trules that war was not imminent, and was thus in meetings with Alphonse for the majority of most days. Nre ran around doing a great lot of worrying and not very much of anything useful, except for begging Iriana to go do something enjoyable. "It _was_ supposed to be a vacation, Iriana. Remember?"

Iriana was torn between staying with Gregory in hopes that he'd find something new to share about Linna's situation, remaining with Faidn in the sickroom so she'd see the sorceress friend of his whenever she arrived, and entertaining Linna's two younger siblings who out of sorts and more than a little confused with the entire situation. Mittlan didn't care much; he was busy toddling around with Tornado and knocking things over. Ceilear wasn't sure what was going on, but she didn't particularly like how distracted everyone was; people paid hardly any attention to her anymore with all the uproar over Rose and Lilliana! Iriana remedied this situation when she decided to spend the afternoons with Mittlan and Ceilear, giving their nannies a break from the whining and overabundance of energy.

Every time they dashed down the corridor, Mittlan bouncing on her hip and Ceilear racing ahead, Iriana found it easy to forget the letters of outrage and worry from her mother, demanding that she come home at once and explain this engagement. She could even put Faidn's worried face from her mind, though whenever she joined him in the evening, she found it was all she could think about.

Worry looked like such a foreign expression on the general's solid face. It seemed wrong that someone who had killed perhaps hundreds in his career as a soldier could have the capacity to worry. Iriana thought it might be more likely that someone in Faidn's position would pull out a sword and start threatening people on blade-point rather than look even remotely worried about something out of his control.

Though Faidn showed his fair share of anger and frustration, he never acted on it, and it always turned to an expression of concern soon after. It was so unnatural that whenever Iriana saw it, all she wanted to do was look away and say something – anything – to make the worry go away and never come back. Often, though, she didn't know what to say. Everything she found on the tip of her tongue sounded insipid, uncaring, overly cheerful, or intrusive. She wasn't his friend; she had to keep reminding herself of that. She hardly knew him, in fact. One conversation and an untimely escape from a ball did not constitute friendship. It might not ever even lead to friendship. Engagement, however—

She groaned softly as her mind came back around to that. _I can't think about that now. But, I'll have to tell my mother something soon._ She looked back up and almost jumped when she found a pair of icy green eyes studying her.

"You alright?" Faidn asked, his hand on Rose's wrist, fingers resting gently on her palm.

"Yes," she said quickly. "I was just thinking."

"Must've been pretty bad," he commented, looking back to Rose.

"Why do you say that?"

Faidn glanced back at her, the right side of his mouth sliding up in an amused grin.

"Because it sounded like someone stabbed you," he said.

Her groan must have been louder than she'd thought. _How embarrassing._

"Not really," Faidn continued, seeing the look on her face. "Not so loud, anyways."

She saw that he was trying to make her laugh and smiled obligingly – it was easier than she'd thought it would be. He smiled too, and it struck her that maybe this man she was engaged to wasn't as bad as she'd thought he was at first. Though it was a weak attempt at a joke, it was said with the air of someone who says funny things often. She hadn't pegged him as much of a joker in the short time since they'd met each other.

"I was just thinking about our little problem," she said lightly, but the mood was ruined.

His eyebrows came together and his mouth straightened into an annoyed, pursed line. Despite his almost angry reaction, his next words were careful and confident, like a father explaining something important to his daughter.

"I don't have to marry you," he said reassuringly.

He held her eyes steadily, and Iriana swallowed, her heart racing. Despite his trying to act calm, she could see that he was angry, more angry than his voice was letting on. She could see it in his eyes. He was perilously angry – at her, so it seemed. As she stared, her eyes frozen on him, she saw the death in his eyes, and the combination frightened her. She looked down quickly and stammered an apology, though she wasn't sure for what, and willed her heart to slow. She heard him turn back to Rose before he said anything else.

"Don't apologize." His voice was quiet, still, like he was afraid to break her with the onslaught of his anger.

There was such a long pause that Iriana's mind started to wander again before his next words snapped it back.

"I wouldn't have held any respect for you, had you gone back to the ball. This is just an unfortunate side effect, but we'll take care of it."

_Does that mean he respects me?_ she wondered. For some reason, gaining the respect of General O'Neil seemed better – more sterling – than gaining the respect of anyone else. Everyone else respected her for her title, or they respected her for everything they imagined she'd do as queen. He—he respected her for something she'd done, for an action she'd already taken. And, he didn't seem the type to hand out respect easily.

He looked over his shoulder at her briefly, as if to convince her of his verity, as he continued.

"We'll fix this."

She nodded, though she didn't know how they'd fix it at all. He sounded so sure, she almost believed him without thinking. She looked past Faidn to Rose, watching her eyelids move slightly, as if she was dreaming. Iriana wished her the most pleasant of dreams.

* * *

Rose opened her eyes on another day of her childhood and steeled herself. She hoped today would be another day where she got away and played with Aerin. She'd all but forgotten her childhood friend, locking the happy memories away with the terrifying ones. Knowing what was to come, the memories were bittersweet, but – like it had been in her childhood – the evenings she could sneak off to play with Aerin were the only things that kept her going.

After finishing all her chores and gaining permission from her tired mother, Rose ran off to meet Aerin at his house. Her father was at home, and she didn't want to be there when he was. The eight year old version of Rose had a highly tuned survival instinct. She crept silently out the door, avoiding her three brothers who were doing something out the back of the house that involved some bows and arrows and an unfortunate bunny.

Her little heart constricted for the bunny – she even thought she knew what it might have felt like, as she had been ganged up on by her brothers before, but she couldn't bring herself to sacrifice her temporary peace to save an animal. _I'm sorry,_ she mouthed at the helpless animal, then scrambled away before her brothers saw her. Tears stung at her eyes, and everything screamed at her to go back, but she shook her head violently, and swallowed her sob.

"I can't," she said shakily. "I told Aerin to wait for me."

Even justified, the weight of guilt sunk her stomach. She _knew _that the only thing that kept her from saving the bunny was her own fear, no matter how much she tried to deny it.

She ran for a quarter-mile or so, then came upon Aerin's house. Her eyes lit up, and the bunny was forgotten in her haste to play with Aerin. She missed the disgusted look Aerin's mother gave her dirty, rumpled dress, black eye, and tangled, greasy hair. Aerin came out, nodding to everything his mother said and unconsciously rubbing his clean hands on his equally pants, then grabbed Rose's hand and started running toward the field.

"Yes, mother," he shouted over his shoulder to her instruction to be home before dark. "I know already!"

Rose giggled, keeping pace with him. It was easy to forget that her eye still stung from when Tyler had caught her alone the night before, and easy to pretend she was a warrior princess off on a mission to save Ellespeth from the wicked sorcerer.

"Halt, Princess!" Aerin cried, dropping her hand and throwing his arm out to the side. "I see a dragon!"

His arm caught her in the chest and she almost fell, but she hardly noticed. She'd had worse knocks than that.

"Oh, sorry," Aerin said, looking back at her.

"I'm fine," Rose said, smiling, then directed her attention at the 'dragon'. "I'm Princess Diamond, dragon! If you want to get to Ellespeth, you'll have to go through me!"

"And me!" Aerin said, picking up a dried stalk of wheat that had fallen and brandishing it at the feind.

Rose held out her hands like she was going to do magic and glared at the dragon. She could imagine its green scales glinting in the autumn light and she readied her magic. She liked being Diamond. She could fight back, because she was the best sorceress in the _world,_ and everyone feared her. No one would ever hit her, and her family ran away when she came to punish them. She was powerful and good, and all good people loved her. Aerin – Prince Ironrock – was her best friend and the best swordsman there ever was. If anything ever happened to her, he protected her, and she did the same for him. No matter what happened, they were always there for each other. They were invincible, and nothing could ever stop them or tear them apart.

After they defeated the dragon, Ironrock sheathed his sword solemnly, metal scraping against metal with a clear ringing sound. He adjusted his swordbelt over the rest of his armor, then looked over at Diamond. She walked away from the dragon and smiled at him.

"A dragon?" she said. "Is that the best they can do?"

"It must be a scout," Ironrock said, mounting his horse and patting its neck. "Come on, Diamond. Let's find the rest of them. Ellespeth needs us."

"Good thinking, Ironrock," she said, mounting her own horse.

The two children galloped off further into the field, imaginations teeming with scenarios, all of them where they were the heroes.

* * *

**What do you all think of Derwin? Is he coming through alright? I'm having some trouble writing him. And what do you think of Rose's friend, Aerin?**

Mazkeraide**: I felt a bit dorky with a terrible, thrown-together map as my avatar, but I hope it helped. Good word. I have so much trouble sometimes remembering that my characters aren't all Roderic. He was a nightmare to write dialogue for. I'm **_**never**_** doing that again if I can help it.**

FaylinnNorse**: Yay, awkward moment! Um, not really. Swana? No, you're not supposed to know. You'll find out who she is, eventually. --secretive smile--**

Forever Daydreaming**: 16: Good. I'm glad you didn't fall asleep. Everything goes wrong, one thing at a time. Poor Carvin, indeed. 17: Yuck. I'm sorry. Give them to your dog, instead. --laugh-- 'Garboil' is sort of... turmoil, really. Confusion. Tumult. Keep looking! You'll find it! **

EVA**: Sorry again about the directions. I hope the map helped! You liked that part with Nre? I'm glad. I had two different versions of Carvin's entrance, one where she starts yelling at him right away, and one where she just collapses into his arms. You can see I went with the latter. It was a hard choice, though. Iriana certainly is in trouble. Ah, if only she had done the courtly thing and not gone with him! Haha! I thought of that too! (Gregory being sucked in). How funny! Love does cover a multitude of sins, but I do think some things still need to be talked out – especially the easily-missed (by the readers) comment of Nre's about arranged marriages being loveless. Carvin would take that pretty hard, I think. Interesting thoughts on Faidn. He really does try to keep all his female friends safe. I think I actually say something along those lines in a little drabble I wrote between them that may or may not fit into the story. I think we're on the same brainwave. Oh! Don't neglect laundry. And don't worry about it – it was very fun for me to think about and outline. It was probably more fun for me than it was for you. Haha!**

Bingo7**: As long as you're not a pun-o-phobe, then it's all good. --relief-- Oh good, I'm glad it's staying smooth. Swana isn't nearby; I suppose I should make that clear when she does enter. Thanks for pointing that out. I was getting ahead of myself, so it seems.**

Pimpernel Princess**: 1: Ha! I loved that line. I'm glad you enjoyed it. 17: Thanks! I'll have to look up that song and see what I think. --smile-- I'm glad you like Linna's part. It seems that the narrated parts versus the free talking is something the readers like. I'm glad, because it's a bit of a hassle to tell the story through! If no one liked it I would be very discouraged. Cadmus ate your pencil, I think. --looks suspiciously at dragon, who is sketching and looking innocent--**

Falchion**: Sorry, I didn't update soon at all. --apologetic smile-- I'm glad you like Faidn! He's one of my favorite characters, though perhaps more for his untold backstory than his current character. I can't wait for **Lobuck** to finish SHOE so you all can know what I know!**

Captain Fantastic**: 3: --laugh-- Intelligence is overrated, anyway. I'm just thrilled that a character of mine has excited you so much! 4: Translating them into adults wasn't as difficult as I feared it would be, thankfully. I'm glad you're enjoying Faidn's part of the storyline, anyway. --chuckle-- I like reading stories late, too, though it's not always fun to realize you've reached the end. (and then the authoress doesn't update for a month... --guilty look--) 10: Hum, that's a fascinating thought. I've never thought of that. 11: --laugh-- The little things certainly are amusing you, aren't they? The Lady of Shoes, indeed. I can just imagine the castle teeming with servant children, all in search of one elusive princess, too. What great fun. 12: Faidn is definitely oblivious. But, we love him, and he can't help it. He does end up being rather suspicious, for all his trying not to be. Doesn't that always happen? Heh. 13: --laugh, again-- Your little squeal-noises in parentheses are tickling me to no end. 14: I never speculate aloud either. I'm singularly bad at it. So, don't worry; I won't laugh. I'm delighted that it made bunny trails in your brain! That makes me smile. 16: --long laugh-- That is indeed why we love him. Spot on, Captain. Ahh. He's so great. You **_**just**_** watched Dead Poet's Society for the first time?! That has to be a crime. What a fantastic movie. Faidn does surprise us every once in a while. It was one of my favorites too. 17: Karl? That's an interesting thought.**

**Wow, thanks for all the reviews! That was spectacular!**

**Reviewers get a big slice of spice cake with cream cheese frosting!**

**EDIT: Thank you, **EVA** and **Falchion** for pointing out my mistakes!**


	19. Voice on a String

**13 . 2 . 09**

**Happy day-before-Valentine's-Day! (Or, happy Valentine's Day, if you live in NZ. --smile--)**

* * *

Iriana closed the door to the sick bay, trying to remember where she was in the palace. She kept getting turned around whenever she tried to go anywhere alone, and now she was supposed to meet Ceilear and Nre for a tea party in the Gardenia Tea Room, which was in the sixth floor western turret. She was now on the third floor – she thought – and so all she had to do was go up three flights of steps and find the right door.

Two (very helpful) servants pointed her in the right direction, but she still somehow found herself, fifteen confused minutes later, on what she suspected was the second floor; the business and conference floor. The marble floor was grey, smooth, and polished, with a wide strip of lush, black carpet running down the middle of the spacious hallway. All the wood, on sideboards, doorframes, and windowsills, was dyed or painted black. All the door knobs and window clasps were a burnished, silvery metal.

It felt more forbidden and more stern than any other area of the castle, and Iriana felt inclined to leave it at once. Lifting her hand from the sill where she had unconsciously rested it, she began to turn around and head back toward the stairs. She then noticed some of the black sticking to her fingers. Frowning, she rubbed her fingers together, but the black stain only spread. She tried to rub it off with her other hand, but the blackness smeared onto her other fingers and began to change. It looked like the stain was made of hundreds of tiny black threads, looping around her hands and binding them. Panicked, she squeezed her eyes shut.

_This isn't happening,_ she thought, as forcefully as she could, then opened her eyes.

Her hands were clean, much to her surprise. She turned them over and back again several times to calm her galloping heart, then quickly made her way back to the stairs. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she wanted to get out of that hallway. As she was passing one of the closed doors, she heard her name. Her feet stopped of their own accord, and she caught the end of the sentence.

"—cess Iriana and General O'Neil's union will have on Trule."

The speaker's voice was low, and held a quality that made the hair on Iriana's neck rise. Years of sitting in on negotiation meetings had trained her ear to subtle tones. This was no friendly meeting.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Carvin's voice said, very quiet and polite.

Iriana started to move again, not wanting to eavesdrop on Carvin's meeting, and not sure she really wanted to know Trule's opinion on their so-called engagement. Then a quiet, unobtrusive voice in her head said,

"Wait, listen."

This was not her own voice, or any voice she recognized. It was a light, easy, male voice. Though she wasn't usually one to do things on impulse – not anymore, and especially not when directed by an unknown source – she didn't move.

"It seems Berensia is strengthening her alliances," the voice said. "Your ties with Molln have been strong since your grandfather's time, and now your general – your friend, Prince Carvin – is engaged to the Crown Princess of Grendath, further solidifying that alliance. Perhaps the time has come for Trule to begin ensuring its own network of support."

"You are, of course, free to do as you wish," the deeper voice that Iriana barely recognized as Alphonse's replied. "but if you are anticipating an attack from Berensia, I must say you are mistaken. Iriana and Faidn's engagement may be ill-timed, but it has nothing to do with any alliance against Trule. I may remind you, also, that there is a treaty between Berensia and Trule that is still active, swearing allegiance to each other in times of need."

"A piece of paper does not guarantee anything in these strained times, Prince Alphonse," the man said. "and where is your own Crown Princess? Has Lilliana disappeared?"

"She's very ill," Carvin replied, his voice flinty, "and I fail to see what that has to do with Trule."

"Peace, Carvin," Alphonse's voice said calmly. "Tell your royal council, again, that there is nothing to fear from Berensia. It merely appears that we'll be looking for a new general soon."

Iriana's heart dropped, but she had enough sense to walk quietly to the stair before anyone opened the door and noticed her standing there like a naughty child. She hadn't thought of what this mishap would cost Faidn, even if they managed to avoid a wedding. Alphonse might have to find a new general, and soon, at least for propriety's sake. And then, social pressures might force his hand to discharge Faidn and instate his substitute, unless they broke off the engagement soon. But if they broke it off too soon, it would be suspicious. _If we broke it off at all it would be suspicious,_ she moaned to herself.

Iriana walked up the stairs, trying to pay attention to the doorways so she would get off on the correct floor this time. She wondered if the thought that he might lose his job had occurred to Faidn. She remembered his confidence in his statement a few days ago: _I don't have to marry you._ She frowned. Perhaps he hadn't. He didn't seem the type to linger on what-ifs. She considered telling him, so he could be prepared, then decided against it. He didn't need anything else to worry about. Then she thought that he really deserved to know, but she couldn't bring herself to think about actually going through with it.

_I wish I hadn't stayed at the door,_ she thought savagely, flexing her fingers in agitation.

She felt tiny threads being stretched to their limit and looked down quickly, but there was nothing there.

* * *

Derwin was amused at the change that a day of running had wrought on Lilliana's rollicking temperament of the morning. She helped him gather some herbs and roots for supper in an exhausted stupor, and as soon as she finished her bowl of thin soup, she lay down and fell asleep. She didn't complain once, though, which surprised Derwin. When he'd realized she was a princess, he'd been expecting more foot-stomping and commands, or at least naïve assumptions that no one would push her beyond her wishes.

Lilliana threw herself into the adventure like she was all too eager to risk her life for a person who, as far as Derwin could tell, didn't exist. Marsha was like Francis and Deborah – or, she _had_ been the last time he'd gone through the book. Since Lilliana had entered, though, someone else might have, too. He'd gotten the feeling that someone was tampering with the book lately, by some odd fluctuations in color, or a bird lighting on a branch that had never been there before. Perhaps there was someone trying to get them out. Maybe he should leave another hint, in case they were looking for the princess—well, of course they were. She was a princess!

"She looks so young like that," Deborah said, tilting her head and smiling at Lilliana's sleeping form.

"It's hard to believe she's a fatal magician," Derwin agreed.

"She looks like she's not invincible," Deborah said with a smile, picking up her bowl from the ground and stacking it with the others.

"No one's invincible," he replied, looking back to her. He mustered his strength and forced a few more words on to the end of the phrase. "Especially little rulers."

He felt the world shift around him as he changed the words. It was almost like stepping onto a ship and stepping back off again. But if he wasn't imagining things, he thought the disorientation lasted longer than usual. Something was changing in the book, and Derwin wasn't sure what that meant.

"You get some sleep too, Weapon Master," Deborah told him. "I'll wash the bowls."

He nodded his thanks and lay down next to Lilliana, watching her breathe in and out, but not sleeping. He was trying to find out who was tampering with the book's magic, and if they were weaving it tighter or loosening it. He was no magic worker himself, but after going through the book several times, he began to pick up a few things from Julia. He tried to do some of the things she said she was doing, and was surprised when it worked. He assumed his newfound abilities were a result of the magic in the book, since he had never toyed with magic before, and magic was a complicated subject only a few humans dared to learn.

He channeled the magic awkwardly and began to try to feel outside of the book, something he had done only a few times before, but with very little to show for it. He hoped that since someone else was moving the magic around, he'd be able to see more. Suddenly, a rush of thoughts bombarded his brain.

—_words weren't there before. They just added themselves! Oh, what a pretty color of hair. A nice aureate glow—the book. Does that mean Derwin is trapped inside too? Rose isn't looking well today, and General O'Neil is highly agitated. Best to stay out of sight. It would be nice if the Princess Iriana were here. He's usually a bit calmer when she's around. So if Derwin is trapped as well— we must tell Swana when she arrives. I wonder who he is, and how he came to be there? I wonder if Princess Lilliana is alright? Princess Nre is worried ill about her. I hope supper is soo—_

With a snap, the words stopped and Derwin was left blinking, more puzzled than he was before his exploration, but invigorated by his success. Perhaps with enough practice, he'd be able to see what the man saw, instead of just hearing his somewhat erratic thoughts. He tried reaching out again, but he couldn't find anything. He finally gave up after an hour of pushing fruitlessly against the magic's web and tried to sleep, too, so he could face the same day he'd faced many times before.

* * *

**Ah, did you like the insight into Benniton's head? He's such a funny character. What do you think of Iriana's ... issue? The politics? (I did tell you – some of you, I don't remember who – that this would be causing a problem, didn't I?)**

Captain Fantastic**: You are, indeed. Have a slice. --dishes it up with gusto-- Oh, me too. I'm glad I'm not the only one that played like that with siblings/friends. Playing Pretend was the single most interesting game there was, at least in my opinion, and I still mourn my apparent lack of ability to play Pretend. My life's goal is to regain enough childishness to play Pretend with small children and really believe what's going on. And that's more information than you asked for, considering you didn't ask for any. Moving on. Ha, I probably would have scared myself silly every time I accidentally did something, and then ended up crying, too. It's a good thing Linna has a bit more spunk. No, that's not exactly what I wanted you to get from it. In fact, I was hoping his next statements would clarify exactly what I meant, ("... we'll take care of it" ... "We'll fix it.") but perhaps not. Oh dear. **

**Yes, those really are her only options, or else marrying someone who didn't care and causing a great uproar. --chuckles wickedly at the idea-- But, since those are really her only options, that's why she's a bit puzzled at the end when he insists that they can fix it. ("She nodded, though she didn't know how they'd fix it at all. He sounded so sure, she almost believed him without thinking.") **_**Sense and Sensibility**_** is lovely, as is all Jane Austen. I still hail **_**Emma**_** as my favorite – thus far – of her works. If you haven't read it yet, add it to your (probably lengthy) list. Ugh, I was afraid of that. Derwin needs some interesting character quality that is currently eluding me. Cadmus, work on that. --chuckle-- You do like Karl, don't you? --laugh-- I think you do have room to talk, especially because you're currently waiting on me for your next chapter. Heh. --runs off to do that--**

Mazkeraide**: I'm sure he was. --is actually thinking about Derwin's past life and thinking that would be a plausible option for him-- I think most girls that age do feel that way. Lilliana is too fiercely independent for her own good, sometimes. Heh. You do?! And I thought I was being clever, coming up with that name. Humph. Didn't we have another character that was the same? --is having an odd déja vu moment, but can't quite recall-- You will find out, I promise. Just hang tight. --smile--**

EVA**: Aw, thanks. --smile-- That is all very strange! It's a wonder how resilient children are! Especially ones with such a vivid imagination as Linna does. Oh, I will definitely reveal Derwin's backstory in time. --does a strange little hippity-hop of excitement-- It's a secret, and a very interesting one at that. Your displaced persons question shall be answered in due course. --smile-- Oh, I'll be certain to invite her! I'm sure she'd love to come. She loves little children, and loves play-acting dearly. I'm sure we'd have a lovely time with your children, and she'd probably organize them all into a play whilst we chatted and drank tea.**

**Hmmm, I didn't mean that bit to be ambiguous. Perhaps I just forgot that I know Faidn better than you all do in his new state of mind! I'll read over that and fix it up directly, so it hopefully won't confuse anyone else. And you'll get a shout-out for that, too! Thank you! He was basically trying to say: "Look, we don't have to get married. We'll find some way out of this. I don't really know what it is, but if I look confident enough and think hard enough, I'm sure I'll come up with something." And he's thinking something more along the lines of, "There is no way I'm marrying a princess. No way. None." which comes through in his brash, "I don't have to marry you." which he then tries to soften by saying things like, "... we'll take care of it" and "We'll fix it." Does that make sense? **

**Hm, I hadn't thought of that (about Rose and archery) but you are probably right! And you're so right about Aerin's mother – blind prejudice too often takes away opportunities we have to care for people who really need it. I'm so glad the bunny part came through like I wanted it to! It was something I threw in at the last minute, to try to show what her life was like without actually writing scene after scene of abuse and neglect. Don't be in awe. Really. Go read **_**Arranged**_** and recall that Captain is absolutely—I almost said fantastic. Heh. Absolutely a master at portraying the realism of human emotions and tying them together in a beautiful piece of literary art. Ahh. It's a struggle not to be jealous, especially when I am her beta! (And if you're reading this, Captain, no; I will not stop bragging on you. Ever. I will be at your very first booksigning when you are published, and if I need a career change, I might head up your advertising campaign!)**

Pimpernel Princess**: Oh, too true. --munches-- Yes, go read SHOE! In spite of how it appears, Lobuck has not died, I promise. I'm still nagging her to write more. **

Falchion**: That information is classified. --tries to appear blank and forboding, pulling dark shades over eyes, then gives up and laughs-- Oh, ugh! Those are confusing! I'll go and fix those imminently. You suspect, eh? Hm.**

Forever Daydreaming**: That's aggravating. Oo, I never thought of that. It is an interesting contrast, isn't it? Oh, good. Wretched in a good way is good. I think. --scratches head-- Patience, Day. All will come out in time. --secretive smile-- Good eye, catching that he thought Berensia was funny. That just might show up again later.**

**For all the worried people (--coughEVAcough--) who are getting ready to scold me for updating so much when I'm having arm issues, both this chapter and the most recent NAPAN one were already typed up. All I did was answer reviews. Now, that doesn't mean I'm not settling in to type up more right now, but that's beside the point. --grin--**

**Reviewers get a box of assorted European chocolates, or a tube of Smarties (again, the European kind, made of chocolate, not the disgusting American ones that are made with compacted sugar.)**


	20. An Aside IV

**19 . 2 . 09**

**Please do note the chapter title, or risk confusion.**

**Disclaimer: Mark Twain is one of the most brilliantly hilarious writers of all time, and if you have not read **_**The Prince and the Pauper,**_** you should.**

* * *

"Peace, peace, good people!"

The strident voice carried through the barn, catching the attention of both farmers and clochards alike. Though the man's voice was loud and carried authority, it might not have cut through the murmuring if the people had not gathered for the express purpose of hearing him speak. Though warmth and sharing of food was also a draw for many of the poorer sorts, the main reason for the gathering on this cold winter night was to listen to the renowned Patrick LeMain speak.

All of them had heard _of_ Patrick, though only a few of them had ever seen him before that very night. He was the hope-bringer for Ellespeth, the one who would save them from oppression and starvation. Even though he had been traveling around the country for two years and nothing had come yet of his pretty speeches, the people still rallied when they heard he was coming. The very fact that the government was constantly chasing him was enough reason for the average citizen of Ellespeth to listen to whatever he had to say.

It was rumored that he had a powerful ally now, and that the time of their liberation was growing nearer. The hearts of the young men and women pounded hard with excitement; they could imagine a better life within their very grasp. The mothers and fathers were more wary, but their tired souls, too, were desperate for a fresh hope.

Denise knew nothing of this. She curled up in the corner next to a fire and tried to sleep, her belly half full of scraps that had been thrown her way by the pitying women. The man's speech rolled around her head like a rocking lullaby, his words striking a pattern and rhythm that was nearly hypnotizing. Patrick was a learned orator, and though Denise cared not at all for what he had to say, she was grateful for the cadence of his voice. It reminded her of the boy's singing on the nights he couldn't sleep, and it was slowly edging her into the otherworld of dreams and memories.

Just before she had fully fallen asleep, Patrick stopped speaking, and there was thunderous applause. Denise groaned and stretched, then lay her head back on her paws in annoyance. The voice that spoke next, however, made her sit up with a low woof of excitement. The people surrounding her laughed and patted her fur, but she paid them no mind. Her focus was on the speaker: a young boy – a boy who looked and sounded like _her_ boy!

"The monarchy is failing," he began, to a loud shout of agreement from the crowd.

Denise started to trot through the crowd, slipping between people and sniffing for any trace of his scent.

"I may be a youth, but I do know when something doesn't work. Ellespeth needs a rule by the people. _You_ know what you want. The king doesn't know! How could he? He locks himself in his palace and raises taxes."

"Here here!" a man shouted above Denise, shaking his fist.

"I confess that I have lived my childhood on your stolen wealth, but when that imposter threw me from my home, declaring me a commoner, I learned too quickly the poverty that seems to be attached to the name of Ellespethians. I too nearly died in that first winter, coming close to starvation with the families who took me in out of the kindness of their hearts, when they had a thousand reasons to turn me away. Time after time, I was welcomed in to your homes – I, the very son of the man who oppressed you!

"That if nothing else has spurred me onward to pursue your freedom. A people so generous, so full of hope, cannot be quashed and mistreated as you are today. It is a sin against heaven! I have spent the last years of my life living the way you do, working alongside the brave and stalwart men, listening to the stories of hope and future told around fireplaces, and dreaming the same dreams you all have dreamt before – dreams of a free and bountiful country where every man has a say.

"I too know your wishes and hopes, and I want to help you turn your wishes into reality. If you will help me dethrone the king and the imposter, I will lead Ellespeth into a new age of wealth and prosperity for all. I ask for your faith and your arms. The time has come for health and plenty!"

Denise finally reached the front of the crowd, and she eagerly sniffed the boy's foot. Patrick shooed her away from the boy with an excoriation, but she'd learnt all she needed to know. This was not her boy; it was that Prince fellow again. She pushed her way back to the relative peace of her cozy spot by the fire, taking care not to be trampled in the joyous uproar the people made in response to the Prince's speech.

She put her head down on her paws once more and let out a sigh.

* * *

**Poor Denise. Thoughts? Speculation as to the applicable nature of these seemingly random asides?**

Faylinn**: Yes, they are made of chocolate! It's a little mind boggling at first, but they're so scrumptious that the name confusion is easily forgiven. They are actually remarkably similar to our M&Ms, but with such a better quality of chocolate inside that I can hardly bear to compare them at all. The black stuff is suspicious, indeed! Heh. I wasn't thinking of **_**The Matrix **_**at all, actually. It seems a little silly that I wasn't, now that I think about it. Clever idea with deja-vu! I'll have to remember that in case it has an opportune moment to slip in.**

Pimpernel Princess**: You can't wait? Well, I'm sorry, but you'll have to. --grin-- Derwin is very clever indeed, and you have a good point (about knowing your friend would die). How terrible. Ahh, I do confess that I liked those books. Dustfinger is such a splendidly interesting, albeit angsty, character, from what I recall. Don't rush to read SHOE – **Lobuck** updates at about 6 month intervals, in spite of my chronic exasperation. --rolls eyes at the thought--**

Mazkeraide**: To each her own, I suppose. --tosses a bag of American Smarties at you-- I happen to think that Faidn causes problems, much like Karl, half the time on purpose and half the time on accident. And, if he didn't directly cause the problem, he's usually a key player in the general confusion. --imagines Iriana as Spiderman, with her blonde hair going crazy around the black eye mask-- Haha. As for your question on how Rose is staying alive – it's a magic thing. If you wish, I can stick a bit in there about it, but I did think it was rather assumed... --has Caddy make a note next to the drawing of Rose in her sickbed-- **

**In general, it would probably take a huge amount of magic to sense the world outside of the one you were in, but since the book runs entirely on a ginormous amount of basically self-perpetuating magic, it's actually relatively simple to channel large amounts of it to accomplish such a purpose, as long as you know what you're looking for. Even still, you'll remember that he'd tried many times before, and only since things seem to be shifting could he get enough magic in the right place at the right time to do anything whatsoever. Vampirate magician? That's new. --chuckle--**

Captain Fantastic**: Laughing with glee and mild embarrassment is good. I especially like the glee part. Hmm, if I take 18 jobs, that would be very, very interesting... --has a brief pause where she seriously imagines such a crazily fabulous career, then snaps back to the review at hand-- You should know that your review had me bursting into very loud and not at all ladylike laughter several times throughout it. My longest laugh was about the strawberry cream cheese bit – ahh, such eloquence you have, Captain, and such brilliant analogies. **

**(As a side note, I think that's one of the things I admire most about your writing – you always seem to have fitting analogies. Whenever I feel like using one, I stop halfway through and lose most, if not all, of my momentum because I can't think of anything good to compare it with!) **

**Smarties it is, then. --tosses a cylinder in your direction-- Office building are rather intimidating, but I think they would grow on you after a while. Huzzah! --smiles excitedly-- I'm glad that black-thread passage came across well. I was a bit worried about it. It's Trules. --laugh-- Hm, tricksy Trules – good thought. Heh: infatuations are very fun. Marsha will come up again; worry not. **

**Benniton is Gregory – I simply could not remember his first name to save my life, though his last name is drilled into my head because I originally had Faidn calling him Benniton before I decided to change it. I feel sorry for Derwin, too. --pats him on the head-- "tidbits of perfection"? Well! --flattered-- I'm glad you like them. --laugh-- Yes, messing with the words would be incredibly fun, but as you can see, it took Derwin a bit of effort to change the words, so I'm not sure it would be that easy. I like super-excited! --big grin-- Ahaha, my next biggest laugh came from your closing comment. I'm the berries, eh? I'll assume that's a compliment. It sounds nice. Ish.**

EVA**: --tries to soothe the ruffled-looking Lady Eva-- It was a joke, Lady Eva. Merely a line stuck in there for grins. If it truly bothers you so much, I'll consider taking it out; but I only meant it to be funny and give the impression that, as easily as the servants and the royals seem to navigate the palace, it's actually complicated and disorienting. Your thoughts on the black threads were very interesting. **

**As for your political comments: ugh! You know, if all my readers were as curious and analyzing as you are... --half smile-- Alright, I shall try to explain what's going on, but I'm not sure how clear this will be. Molln is about to cave in and join the group against Philettin. Grendath is on the edge of joining the group led by Philettin. Berensia has very strong ties with both countries. Although she's declared that she won't join sides, Trule sees the marriage of the General to the Crown Princess as a tipping in the scales – if the General is married to the (allegedly) most influential person in government, wouldn't it make sense that he would try to get Berensia to join with his beloved's country in war? And since Berensia and Trule border each other (and Berensia is Trule's main seaport) it would get tense for Trule if they stay neutral. They could be easily attacked from both sides, or economically blockaded at the least, which is as good as an attack for the small, landlocked country. --exasperated sigh-- I'm not sure that made sense, but that's what I have.**

**Since you all seemed to express an interest in European Smarties, I'll offer up Kinder Eggs for readers who review on this chapter. (For those of you who aren't familiar with this particular European treat, imagine hollow chocolate egg made of two thin layers of chocolate; the inside layer is white chocolate, and the outside layer is milk chocolate. Now, insert a little capsule with a miniature statuette or toy inside the chocolate delight, and cover the treat in a foil wrapper. Voila! Kinder Egg!)**

**Post Script – I'm working on the next chapter this evening, so any reviews you can give me post-haste would be very inspiring. **


	21. Magic In the Air

**20 . 2 . 09**

**Oh, I couldn't resist posting again. This is one of my favorite chapters, and I think I've been patient enough waiting until **_**now**_** to post it. Besides, the last chapter was short and odd, so I think you deserve another one, don't you?**

**--feels like she's talking to a classroom of children and smacks herself in the forehead--**

**To the chapter, ye intrepid readers!**

* * *

One evening, without any warning whatsoever – not even a knock on the door – a complete stranger walked into the sickroom, looking around the small room like she knew just what she was looking for and had merely to find it.

"Hello, Swana," Faidn said civilly, getting up from where he had been sitting, staring at Rose with glazed eyes.

He clasped her right hand firmly between both of his powerful ones, but even the formality of that greeting seemed inappropriately casual for this odd stranger. Her clothes were practical, obviously suited for traveling with their neutral tan color and hardy appearance. Though simple, they were obviously foreign, and Iriana wondered where she was from.

No jewelry adorned her, save a braided hemp bracelet with a fragment of opal woven into it. She was tall, almost as tall as Faidn, and very fit. Her most dazzling feature, however, was the fiery red hair that was twisted into a single bunch and knotted, as if for convenience. Given the rest of her attire, it probably was for convenience. Even with the knot, her hair reached far down her back.

Her very presence made everyone sit up straighter – even Gregory, who hardly noticed anything anymore except for the book, which he constantly had in his possession. How General O'Neil had gained the allegiance of this character was a question on everyone's mind. _Not that the general isn't impressive,_ Iriana defended to herself, smoothing her skirts as she stood, _but she looks like she could have a knife at his throat in less than a heartbeat if she had a good reason._

"An enchanted book." Swana was speaking to Faidn in a very low voice; Iriana could only hear her because she had stepped forward to introduce herself.

"Yes," Faidn replied, his voice also barely more than a murmur. "It captured Lilliana and put Rose to sleep."

"I'm sorry, Onyx, but I cannot stay long. War is breaking again in Philettin, and that accursed country will be the death of thousands of innocents if it cannot be stopped."

"I know. Thank you for coming."

Faidn's voice was respectful and passive, different than any voice Iriana had heard him use before. Whoever this sorceress was, the general respected her. Swana took a few long strides toward Gregory and held out her hand for the book.

"You have done well," she said. "The General told me of your devotion. I am impressed."

"Thank you," Gregory stammered, handing her the book and pushing his spectacles further up his nose nervously.

Swana thumbed through the book with her eyes closed, and read through it quickly with her eyes open. Then, without comment, she knelt beside Sarah and put a hand on Rose's cheek. Faidn, Iriana, Gregory, and Sarah all watched her closely for any sign of—anything.

After a few moments, she frowned and stood up. Again without explanation, (Iriana thought it must be a habit of Swana's never to waste a word) she began to tell a story that seemed to have no connection at all to the current situation. Faidn, who had been impatient and testy to the point of lunacy, did not interrupt her, but listened raptly.

"Ten years ago, the foul Sorcerer Iain of Ellespeth was killed by the hand of one Cameron Braxton, who was the Crown Prince of Grendath. In the same battle, Cameron was felled. As a result, his younger sister – who had been, up to that point, hardly known throughout the kingdom – was left as the single heir of the family line. After Cameron was buried and the appropriate amount of time had passed, a coronation ceremony was held to officially recognize Iriana as the Crown Princess.

"According to tradition, sorcerers, fairies, and other magical beings were invited to attend the coronation, in the hopes that this poor, grief-stricken, confused girl of thirteen might be blessed with a legendary gift of wisdom or reason. Unfortunately, her parents forgot to invite one Sorcerer Hughes: a clever and powerful sorcerer, if somewhat silly and ill-tempered. In a fatal temper, he devised a plan to kill the young princess in such a way that it could not be traced to him – and could, in fact, make him a hero and a king.

"He penned a book, threading magic through every single letter in a spell so complex that all but the very best sorcerers would be baffled by it. This book, disguised as an adventure story for older children, would trap the innocent reader within its pages if they but wished themselves there. Once Iriana was trapped inside, she would be unable to escape, and she would die at the story's end along with whichever character she had chosen to become."

Iriana felt a sudden, powerful urge to get the book as far away from her as possible. Millions of thoughts bubbled up in her head (_Why me? What did I do?_) but she tried to ignore them as she continued listening to Swana's story, in hopes that something more hopeful might be said.

"However, the book was never delivered to the child, because Sorcerer Adarias, who was a friend of the king, heard of Hughes's plot and confronted him. When Hughes refused to destroy the book, the Adarias cast the magician into his own book and destroyed it himself—or so he thought. Hughes was clever enough to make the book appear as if it had been destroyed, while in fact it remained unharmed, and waiting for a star-crossed soul to pick it up.

"It was then, through a series of events either or unfortunate or fortunate, as you like, that the book arrived on the easternmost country of Ladyra. Upon its arrival there, it was lost from knowledge. How it has journeyed here again I cannot say, except that Hughes might be searching still for Iriana with what humanity he still grasps after a decade of imprisonment in his own weapon."

_Still searching for me?_ The thought of a half-crazy, powerful magician searching her out from deep within the confines of his own weapon was enough to throw her heart into her throat. She dearly wished there was someone next to her: someone she could hold on to who would tell her that everything would be okay.

But then she reminded herself that she was the Crown Princess, and she needed to get control of herself. She took a deep breath to compose her face, though she could do little to stop her racing heart and pounding fear; no one spared her a glance except Sarah. They were all staring at Swana and Faidn, who had just spoken.

"And Rose?" Faidn's patience had worn through. "What happened to her? And can you get Lilliana out?"

"I can't be sure. The spell is too complex for me alone, even with this man's admirable assistance."

Gregory might have blushed.

"You don't know anything?" Faidn said incredulously.

"If you would stop jumping to conclusions, I will speak," Swana said, sounding as close to upset as Iriana ever wanted to hear her.

"Sorry," Faidn said quickly, but he didn't look sorry. He looked hopeless and angry.

"I know you're upset, but this doesn't have to be as serious as you think it is." She looked back at the other three, including them again in the conversation. "Rose is reliving her childhood right now, though what purpose Hughes could have with her I can't be certain. The child is in greater danger."

"Can you get her out? How much time do we have?" Iriana asked, speaking for the first time.

"I don't know," Swana said, then her eyes narrowed a little. "Who are you?"

"Princess Iriana of Grendath," Iriana said with a small curtsy and a swallow.

Swana's eyebrows smoothed again, but her voice was still serious as she spoke.

"Stay away from this book, Iriana. Hughes will kill you if he has the chance. I need more assistance if I'm to rescue Lilliana."

With that abrupt statement, she left.

When Swana left the room, Iriana could almost see her unanswered questions fluttering after her. Her mouth half open to ask how much danger _she_ was in, she watched Swana's red hair swish out the door frame. She closed her jaw, and felt the very great need to sit down.

She glanced around the room, but still the only person who was looking at her was Sarah. Never mind that the whole reason the sorcerer's book was here was because of her, everyone was staring at Rose, the book, or out the door. _Actually,_ she thought,_ if I'm the reason the book is here, I suppose it's good they're not paying attention to me._ Realizing that she was going to collapse soon, she wobbled over to Sarah and collapsed into the chair within an arm's length of her. Sarah put a hand on her knee wordlessly, the most the princess could, or should, expect from a servant.

She fought the urge to cry.

"Who is she?" Gregory asked, after the long, surprised, pause, looking a little gobsmacked.

"A sorceress," Faidn said distractedly, "but did you hear her? Rose is reliving her childhood. Her _childhood._"

Sarah's hand froze on Iriana's knee, and Iriana wondered why that was so terrible. At the moment, though, she didn't trust herself to speak.

A moment later, Swana walked back into the room, trailed by a man Iriana had never seen before. Although such observations were far from her mind after being told a sorcerer was trying to kill her, she had to admit that he was very handsome. He was well built, trim and slender, but not at all feminine, and pleasantly muscular; he was probably a few years older than Iriana herself. His dark eyes and black hair gave him a look of mystery, and his mouth seemed to have a permanent smirk.

"Do you recognize the spell?" Swana asked him as he picked up the book.

"Give me a minute to think," the man complained, making a face at her.

He tossed the book into the air and caught it by the spine.

"He's inside, you say?" the man asked, tapping the book's cover. "Knock knock."

"Karl," Swana said firmly.

Iriana stifled a chuckle; the man's easy confidence made her heart slip down a little, almost back to its proper place.

"Don't you ever have fun?" the man, Karl, grumbled. "This one is complicated, probably because—"

"He's changing it all the time," Swana said.

"Look, do you need me or what?" Karl said, spinning the book around in his fingers.

"I was hoping you would know why the woman became involved," Swana said, gesturing toward the bed.

"Ey, she's pretty," Karl said with interest. "I know why _I_ would involve her."

"She's not your type," Faidn said in a low voice, putting a hand on top of her limp one protectively, but not moving to block Karl from coming closer.

"And how would you know that, grumpy?" Karl said, his smirk widening.

Iriana was almost afraid to see how Faidn would react. She'd never seen anyone dare to cross him.

"Because you're the type that made her what she is," Faidn growled. "You think you can have anyone you like, but I'm telling you she's not your type, so _shove off._"

"Faidn," Swana said, with heavy annoyance, "if you keep being rude to my help, I'll send you away."

Karl looked like he was putting significant effort into keeping his mouth shut, though he was smiling widely; he'd probably been around Swana when she was angry before.

"Karl, what are your thoughts?" Swana said pleasantly, ignoring Faidn's furious expression.

Karl looked like he was seriously considering goading Faidn further, but he apparently decided against it, turning the book around in his fingers once more as he thought.

"I can't sort that out," he said after a minute. "I think Hughes is hiding it from us."

He brought the book to eye level and squinted at it, opening his mouth a little and letting his tongue push against his bottom lip in concentration.

"Fancy giving me a hint?" he asked the book amiably. "Do be a sport."

"Stay here and work on that, please. Perhaps you could at least contact one of the two and tell them we're working it out," Swana said to Karl.

She turned to Faidn.

"Keep an eye on him. I have business with Prince Alphonse and Prince Carvin."

Faidn nodded curtly and flicked a glance back at Karl, who was humming something as he read the first chapter of the book.

"Roger Hissister? Bit of a tongueful, that surname."

He looked up and noticed Iriana studying him. The man smiled brightly and walked over to her, holding out his hand.

"Sorry, I'm Karl. And you are?"

"Princess Iriana Braxton," she said, giving another small curtsy and letting him kiss her hand.

"Princess! Well," Karl said, clearly impressed, his eyes skimming over her as they had the pages a moment ago.

"No greetings for old friends, then," Sarah said loudly from Rose's bedside, grinning when Karl turned toward her with a look of disbelief.

"Do mine ears deceive me? Sarah! You blighter! How are you?"

"Looking older than you, now. You've hardly aged at all! Don't you have all the luck."

Sarah stood as if to embrace him in a hug, but Karl put his hands up defensively.

"No offense, Sarah, but as best I recall, the last time you touched me you almost strangled me."

Sarah laughed loudly with the air of one who has only just then recalled something truly hilarious.

"Oh, heavens! I'd totally forgotten!"

"Well, believe me; I haven't," Karl said rubbing the back of his neck with a good natured grimace. "I think a handshake will do just fine. Though I might become more accustomed to your company in time..."

He trailed off, shaking her hand firmly and glancing at the rest of her.

"Don't think about it," Faidn droned without looking up from Rose. "She's married."

"You really do think the worst of me all the time, don't you?" Karl said, pulling a face at Faidn which made Iriana laugh.

"I've seen the worst of you," Faidn shot back.

Karl chose to ignore that remark, turning back to Sarah instead.

"I'm sorry about Rose," he said honestly. "I assume that's wee Rosie, isn't it? She looks a bit familiar around the edges. Swana'll figure this out. She always does. Of course, she does need help sometimes, which is why I'm here. Fairies are a bit better at magic than humans, just by nature."

"You're a fairy?" Iriana said, now even more interested in the handsome stranger.

She thought that if she distracted herself, maybe when she thought again about Swana had said it would seem much smaller and less frightening than before.

"Well, only half, but who's counting?" Karl smirked at his own joke as he made his way nonchalantly to Iriana and peered at the book. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll see if Hughes will let me talk to someone in there."

"Swana said two," Faidn said, unconsciously rubbing Rose's fingers between his own. "Who else is in there?"

"I'm sure _I_ don't know," Karl said, sitting down on a chair next to the Princess and winking at her. "Someone named Derwin, I expect. If you don't mind?"

He pointed at the book, and Faidn waved a hand dismissively. Karl closed his eyes, then promptly opened them again. Iriana, who had been watching him intently to see what magic looked like, jumped when his eyes met hers.

"Do you want to see what it's like in there?" he asked.

"Swana said she should stay away from the book," Faidn said quickly. "Hughes is after her, remember?"

"She'll be perfectly safe," Karl said. "I'll keep her completely shielded until we get past the outer web. Then we'll be interacting straight with Lilliana or Derwin."

"I really don't trust you," Faidn said bluntly.

"I know magic better than you do," Karl said, then looked at Iriana. "You want to see?"

Iriana looked at Faidn, who was glaring at Rose's hand. Faidn was concerned, but Karl did have a point; he knew magic better than Faidn did. But, did she really want to get anywhere near that book?

"What harm is there in seeing?"

That voice was back, slipping between her own thoughts like it belonged there. She hardly noticed it.

"Yes, I do," she said. "What do I do?"

"Keep a hold of my hand," Karl instructed, "so that I can channel the magic through you. Then, just relax, and let me carry our thoughts there. Oh!"

He turned to her and put a hand under her chin, tipping it up. For a heart stopping moment, Iriana thought he was going to kiss her, but he pressed his lips to her cheek instead. It tingled when he pulled away.

"That's to keep the book's magic from touching you," he said with a grin, noticing her flushed cheeks. He then leaned forward and whispered into her ear. "I save the real thing for at least the second date. Now, close your eyes and relax."

Iriana's heart flip-flopped, but she had the presence of mind to grip his hand when he lightly folded it around hers. His palm was warm and dry against her own. After she heard him taking a breath, she was flying through the darkening sky of a different world.

* * *

**Ha. Karl has returned, this time with the mysterious Swana. Comments on the surprise arrival? On Swana? On Faidn? On Iriana...?**

FaylinnNorse**: No, I believe I've become the worst reviewer ever. Perhaps we tie? --chuckle-- You didn't have to say anything inspiring. Just sitting here and knowing that someone somewhere cares what I'm doing is enough to get Caddy painting. Pitiful? Perhaps. But, productive! I'm fond of my asides, too. (Is that egotistical?) Nice deducing on the prince/peasant front. Kinder Eggs are delicious. If they weren't banned in the US, I would have them all the time. I suppose it's good that they are, then. Heh. **

Captain Fantastic**: Before I even answer your review, I have one thing to say...**

**IT'S KARL!! **

**Now, onto the reply:**

**--laughs heartily-- Alright, Captain. I'll give you your cheesecake with cherries, but only because you said please. I'm surprised you'd give up the Kinder Egg, though; **_**those**_** things are the berries. No speculation? None. Alright then, so long as you're honest. --smile-- Oh, sorry about that reminder. --hands a tissue-- I do love dogs. I agree on the brainwaves bit. It's convenient, no? Ducky. I like that. It reminds me of **_**The Land Before Time**_**, but that probably can't be helped. Aha, 'the berries' is a phrase from the Twenties? I like it. I'll use it. --satisfied smile--**

Pimpernel Princess**: They are. Honestly. They're one of my favorite things in the whole wide world. Wait, they actually did a movie?! I didn't know that! Now I must find it and watch it! Heh, yes; in Ladyra, wishes are tricksy things. Sometimes they work splendidly, and sometimes they... don't. Sure, you can have another Kinder Egg for speculation; it's hard work to speculate for those discombobulated pieces.**

Mazkeraide**: You're not the first person to tell me that Denise was not a good dog name. I didn't even think about it when I first wrote it. 'Denise' flew out of my fingers like it was made for her. --hapless shrug-- An extra Kinder Egg for you, too, for speculation. For the record, the boy's name was not Patrick – that was the ringleader's name. The boy didn't ever have a name. Suspect away, fair Mazzie, suspect away.**

**Reviewers get a box of Dots, or a strip of the dots on paper, whichever you like.**

**EDIT: Thanks to everyone who pointed out that Iriana's reaction (or lack thereof) was totally off base. I can't believe I did that! Karl must have just carried me away... --wink--**


	22. Drowning

**5 . 3 . 09**

**This chapter is dedicated to **Captain Fantastic**, for her brilliant suggestion of show tunes for inspiration. (If you haven't read her **_**Arranged**_**, do so. It's brilliant.)**

**And, many thanks to **Lobuck**; without her, my stories would be terrible.**

**I feel sentimental now.**

**Disclaimer: I forgot to say: any Sleeping Beauty correlations in the last chapter aren't mine.**

* * *

Rose floated, trying to separate her thoughts from her memories. The ghosts of her feelings – hurt, insecurity – battered on her mind and soul like a huge crashing river against a dam. _No,_ Rose thought, trying to distract herself with analogies, _like the ocean against a dike._

But the temporary respite was just that – temporary. She couldn't bring up another analogy, and the emotions and memories tried to wear her down. It was so tempting to just let them overwhelm her, like the river or the ocean, and carry her away like a boat onto a journey to all the places she'd already been. She could almost feel herself becoming the girl again: the terrified, spineless girl she used to be.

As she waited with a desperation she'd never known for the blessed breaking of the dawn, she tried to hold onto the ten years in Berensia. Ten years spent countries away from all the men—Father, brothers, Master, Master's Son, and—ten years away from everyone that made her how she used to be. She clung to those years like—like—

Her slogged brain struggled for another analogy.

_Like a rope, or a plank, or a lifeboat. A lifeboat is good; it's the biggest._

She clung to those years like a lifeboat, the years where she learned for the first time that she could make other people laugh in a pleasant way. Where she learned to read. Where she learned that not all men would act the same way. Where she made more friends than just Sarah. Where she found that happiness was not always followed by excruciating pain.

But then, paradoxically, it was in those years that she found she was not the only one who carried pain within her heart like an unborn child.

_Perhaps that's not the best analogy._

When Faidn returned from Philettin a man instead of a boy, they learned together that it was possible to let go and live on.

In a burst of clarity that she thought was not unlike coming up from under the icy waters into equally icy air, she realized that Faidn was probably worrying himself to death. And with the typical behavior of someone who's just come above the water, Rose forgot how chill the water had been, and how very near to drowning she had come. Faidn was a safe harbor.

She smiled ruefully as she imagined what he would be putting himself through. That man had no patience. Perhaps he'd learn some patience; it had to have been weeks—_no, months—_since she'd fallen asleep.

_I wonder how long I'll relive these memories_, she thought, the water licking her toes as she sat in the watercolor lifeboat on the frozen sea. She knew this was a dream world, and it would all shatter when the child Rose awoke, but for the time being, she was happy to be above the water of her own analogy.

_Perhaps I'll just keep living through them until I run into the present, and then I'll wake up._

She tried to convince herself that she could survive all of that again, but one memory sprang to her eyes like it had been waiting for that moment and she gasped like she'd been punched.

"I can't do that again," she whispered, her voice harsh and waterlogged. "I can't!"

Her mind began to spin, and the boat began to sink. The water crept over the side of the boat and slid over her legs, like the tongues of frozen dragons.

"Hughes!" she finally called, hoping something would happen.

She didn't know how magicians conducted themselves, but she hoped that if she screamed his name until she slipped into the water again he might at least have the decency to show up. She was midway through her sixth repetition of his name, and the water had reclaimed everything but her neck and head, when the voice came from an undefined area around her.

"It's _Sorcerer_ Hughes, if you don't mind."

"Sorcerer, then," she said, beginning to shiver violently with the memories and feelings trying to reclaim her mind with the frigid water.

"Well?" the voice said.

Rose craned her head in all directions, but saw no one.

"Would you show yourself, please?" she asked a little meekly, not sure where to look. "It's odd, talking to a voice."

"It's odd talking to a girl who should be drowning," he said in reply, but a moment later a man stood on the water before her.

In another moment, she was no longer in a nameless ocean, but standing uncertainly on a featureless floor with no walls or ceiling or sky, or anything. The only things to look at were herself or the Sorcerer. She took a good look at him, forgetting her original panic when the thought was replaced with another. In this dream state, it was hard to think of anything at all, and almost impossible to think of two things at once.

He was an older middle-aged man, with short, greying hair and the build of one who never really learnt to cook properly. He raised an eyebrow at her, reminding her of her query. She swallowed, her old fear of men – especially those with some power over her – surfacing again.

_What was I thinking? It would have been better to talk to a voice._

Something in his eyes reminded her of the Master, and it made her skin crawl. Even without the ocean, the cold fear seeped into her mind and tried to numb her. She wouldn't let it.

"How long am I going to be here until you let me go?"

Rose knew her words were falling over each other and probably coming out wrong, but she was proud of herself for saying anything at all.

"Only about... a week left until the story ends."

"A week," she said, relieved.

_It won't happen in a week._

"But that's a week of book time, or of real time," the Sorcerer said informatively, briskly. "Dream time is different. It's been a little over a week since you fell asleep."

"A week?" she repeated, again. "But it's been four years. I'm not reliving every day, exactly, but it must have been weeks...months..."

She knew she was rambling, but she could hardly help it. Another week of real time was another four years of memories. She'd live through everything until she was almost fourteen.

"No, let me wake up, please," she begged. "There's something—a year—one year that I can't—you can't—you don't understand, Sorcerer. Just let me wake up. I don't even know what you _want _with me, but surely my reliving memories can't give you anything."

"Gives me something to watch," he shrugged. "Living in a book is more boring than you may think."

"You're doing this for—_entertainment?_"

Anger flared up in Rose, burning away the threats of drowning in her own mind. It was so hot that she forgot the Sorcerer made her nervous.

"Why don't you let _me_ go and watch as Derwin changes _your book_ until he finds a way to get out. I'm sure that's _entertaining."_

"Derwin is fascinating," the Sorcerer said, unruffled by her outburst, "but I can't just let you go. You're a part of the weave now. And if you're going to be here, I might as well be _entertained, _as you so nicely put it. What amuses me most is, even after watching this much of your childhood, you still have so much fire now."

He took two steps toward her and held out a hand, as if he were going to touch her. She took three steps backward and glared at him. Again not bothered by her reaction, he continued speaking.

"That Aerin boy must have done you a lot of good over the years."

"He was great, while he lasted," Rose said quietly.

Drowning became a possibility once more as her frame went slack at the memory.

"What happened to him?" Hughes asked brusquely, then laughed. "Oh, I suppose I'll spoil it for myself if I ask."

He chuckled again, and the flaming anger came back twice as strong as before. Rose actually had to fight a very strong, very dear impulse to punch him, even though that meant getting close to him.

"Are you married, then?" Hughes asked.

She shook her head, her arms starting to tremble with anger. Listening to him toy about with her past when he'd obviously not had a terrible memory in his life – it was too much to bear.

"Engaged?"

"No," she answered stiffly, looking at the floor.

"You have a good friend who's a man, then. One who tells you everyone was wrong about you, but doesn't have the guts to ask you to be his forever."

Faidn's grinning face added another burst of flame to her blazing fury.

"You don't get it!" she shouted, taking two steps forward and raising a fist. "You don't understand anything! If you're not going to let me go, then leave me alone!"

All her anger had hissed out in those words and actions, leaving her shivering at the sudden absence of heat. The Sorcerer didn't say anything, and his face was unreadable. Rose hung her head and spoke feebly, in the only voice she had left.

"I—I can't stand you mocking I've worked so hard—that I've had so much help—that I've learnt to live with, even when waking up sometimes I would feel like nothing had changed. G—go away."

She kept her eyes on her feet, listening. Absolute silence met her ears. When she looked up, Hughes had vanished. Then, with a ray of light like a javelin, the sun rose.

The child Rose woke, and Rose was yanked away from the nothingness into the cold winter when she was nine. She thought this was the day when Orio – their horse – broke her toe. The child shivered and pulled on her warmest dress and least-holey socks in a vain attempt to stay warm.

* * *

For a few terrifying moments, Iriana was falling through the night sky. The stars spun above her, the ground twirled beneath her, and she was caught in the middle like a hapless, accidental acrobat. Before she had time to scream, however, her feet hit the ground.

"Iriana, you can open your eyes," Karl said in a vaguely amused tone.

She was holding onto his arm as tightly as she could, scared to even take a breath.

"Right," she whispered, peeling her eyes open.

Karl pushed a curl of hair off her cheek, taking his time in drawing his hand back.

"You should have warned me," Iriana said, taking a gulp of air as she remembered that breathing was necessary.

She glared at him crossly, and he looked instantly contrite.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"Perhaps," she muttered, but her mouth was twitching into a smile. It was hard to stay angry at him. Rather than admit her own weakness, she changed the subject. "Where are they? And—can they hear us?"

That thought occurred to her and she hushed her last statement worriedly.

"They're right over there," Karl said, gesturing behind her, "and they could hear _me_, potentially – or, Derwin and Lilliana, anyway – if they were listening for me."

"They couldn't hear me?" Iriana asked, turning around and looking in the direction Karl had indicated.

A group of four were sitting around a campfire, talking in low voices. She immediately noticed two men and two women, then wondered which one was Lilliana.

"No, because you're shielded," Karl said. "We're both invisible, but you are, for all practical purposes, not here at all."

He put a hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward, toward the group around the fire.

"That's good, I suppose," she murmured, distracted by his touch.

"It's very good, since Hughes is after you," Karl said.

"Wait," Iriana said suddenly, a thought striking her. "How do you know Derwin isn't Hughes?"

"You're just full of questions," Karl said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Firstly, they keep their own names, as we know because of Lilliana. But, even with the possibility that he... introduced himself to the characters with a different name, he still couldn't be Derwin. He was cast into the _book_, not the _story._ He's somewhere in the book itself, presumably in the spirit-nature of the magic in the book, but that's just speculation at the moment. I've hardly gotten a chance to look at the fascinating thing."

"If you've hardly gotten a chance to look at it, how do you know Derwin isn't Hughes?" she asked, a valid point, in her opinion.

"Because that's how spells work. You can't say one thing and do another unless you're either a complete dunce or a complete genius. But, the Sorcerer who cast him into the book wasn't a dunce, and he would know that casting Hughes into the _story_ instead of the _book_ wouldn't guarantee his destruction when the book was destroyed. See?"

"So the story doesn't die when the book is destroyed? This same adventure will keep being played out over and over again, only no one will know it?"

Karl laughed and turned her toward him, putting another hand on her shoulder. She smiled too, but she didn't know why he was amused; his laugh just made her smile, whether she wanted to or not.

"You are far too curious to be a proper princess," he informed her. "I do believe we're going to get along. I never set much stock by traditionalism."

"I'm not sure I'm as wild as you are," she informed him.

"Not yet," he said with a smile, almost under his breath.

Karl shot her a sidelong glance, as he started walking again, which she tried to ignore. He stopped once more just inside the ring of warm, dancing light and cleared his throat.

"Derwin? Derwin! You, with the sword!"

"What are you doing?" Iriana hissed. "You're going to mess up the story! Then Hughes would know something was wrong!"

"Not to worry, my dear," Karl said with a gratifying smile. "Derwin is going to say whatever he's supposed to say, regardless of my distractions. It's how the book works. I think I almost had him with that last one. Let me try again."

He paused for a moment, seemingly forgetting that his hand was still at Iriana's back, and then spoke again, directing his next sentences at the man who was polishing his sword. He was short and stocky, with cropped brown hair and a friendly face, albeit a plain and easily forgettable one.

"Derwin! Sword-man! Whoever you are!" he called, loudly.

The man looked up from his sword, frowning, then made a passing comment in the conversation.

"Yes, you," Karl said happily. "Derwin. Weapon master. Whatever you like to be called. Can you hear me?"

The man nodded slowly, his eyes searching the area. They seemed to rest on Iriana for a moment, but they soon moved on to something else.

"Can you think back?" Karl asked him. "Channel some magic. I assume you know how to do that, at least."

Derwin nodded a little, and a moment later, a fairly deep adult male voice slipped in and out of hearing. Iriana noticed that it didn't match Derwin's voice, but she supposed it must be the voice he had before he was trapped in the book.

"Keep it steady, Der," Karl said, then made a face. "No, I don't like Der. Win? Nah. Blast, what a terrible name to shorten."

"Can you hear me?" The voice was faint, but clear.

The blonde woman was peering at Derwin with a frown, though she carried on the conversation without missing a beat, just like Derwin did. _That must be Lilliana!_ Iriana thought, a smile leaping to her face. _She seems like she's alright, considering._

"Much better," Karl congratulated.

"Who are you?" the voice asked.

It seemed to come from the vague direction of Derwin, but it mainly just echoed in Iriana's head, like a stray thought. It was an odd way to communicate, but she supposed it was a magic thing that Karl was used to. _At least, he acts perfectly at ease. _It seemed that something about the conversation was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"And a valid question that is," Karl agreed. "I was sent to tell you that we're trying to get you and Lilliana out. The much more interesting question is, who are _you_?"

"I've been trying to find a way out for years, but I can't find anything," the man said. "Have you found a way?"

"I did say we were trying."

"You have to get Lilli out first."

"Sweet," Karl quipped. "You know that, despite her misleading appearance, she is only eleven?"

"Eleven-year-olds can die as easily as anyone else," Derwin said with a sigh. "She—"

The blonde woman surreptitiously knocked her knee against Derwin's, breaking his concentration.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered; Iriana barely heard her, as the other woman was also saying something.

"Someone from outside is talking to me," he whispered back.

"Are you sure it's not in your head?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and smiling.

"I'm pretty sure," he said. "They're trying to get us out."

"I don't want to get out! Derwin, I told you. I want to finish the adventure."

"Derwin!" Karl called.

"She doesn't want to come back home?" Iriana said, feeling like she'd just been punched. She pictured Nre and Carvin's haggard faces; they were worried sick about her.

"Does that surprise you?" Karl said, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry. Lilli—" Derwin started.

"We heard," Karl interrupted. "I have to go now. Just know that we're trying to get you two out."

"Get her first," Derwin repeated. "I know I won't die, and I'm sure you know she will."

"Right."

"Will I hear from you again?" he asked.

Karl thought about that for a moment.

"Probably not," he finally answered. "It's too risky. The Sorcerer could notice me and trap me in, too."

"Good luck, then," he said quietly. "Please, get us out."

"I'll give it my tippity-top best effort," Karl said with a grin.

A moment later, the chipper voice was gone; Derwin was left blinking and hoping that that wasn't all a dream.

"He_llo!"_

"Sorry," Derwin said quickly, then did a double take.

He was by the nearby stream with Lilli, washing the plates. He didn't even notice getting up. Going through the book so many times had numbed him to the normal actions, apparently.

"Who were you talking to, and why do you want me out?" Lilliana said, presumably for the second or third time.

"I'm not sure, actually," Derwin said, furrowing his brow. "He didn't answer me."

"That's very believable, then," Lilli said with a laugh – but not a mean one. "You might just be going crazy."

"Maybe," he allowed. "But I don't think so. It seemed like magic."

"Well, whether or not you're hearing voices, why do you want me out so badly? Am I that bad of a traveling companion?" she questioned, making a face as she rubbed some food off a plate, though she didn't complain.

"Your family is worried about you," he said.

"Did the voice in your head tell you that?"

"No," he said, "but I know they're worried."

She rolled her eyes and scrubbed at the plate.

"They can handle it."

Derwin let the conversation drop, and they washed the rest of the dishes while discussing the day's travels and what Lilli thought would happen in the upcoming days. It was amusing to see her think so hard about a story Derwin could tell backwards or forwards. Eventually, their talking turned to other venues, like Lilli suggesting ridiculous ways to get out of the book.

"Turn around five times and count backwards from ten by threes!" she declared devilishly, pulling her blanket up to her shoulders.

Their talking had lasted all the way to bedtime. Whatever he'd talked to Julia about for so long had been far less interesting than Lilliana's spirited opinions and crazy ideas. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"That's a viable option," he said, yawning, "except for the _impossibility_ of it."

"That's what makes it perfect!" she declared. "How else to get out of a spell than by doing something impossible?"

"Whatever you say, Lilli," he murmured sleepily. "Get some rest. It's a very, very long day tomorrow, because the first time we set up camp we're chased away by a centaur and a wolf who aren't working for Roger but might as well be."

"You're better than an almanac," Lilli laughed. "But don't tell me too much – you're spoiling the story."

It was silent for a long while. Derwin started to drift off to sleep, but he was woken by another whisper.

"You should think about purple turtles and nothing else, all day long."

"My single minded concentration will certainly break through the spell," he groaned. "I'll give it a try. Now go to sleep!"

She chuckled, but rolled over then and didn't speak again. Derwin closed his eyes. He was glad she had come. If she died, he didn't know what he would do.

* * *

**Karl is too much fun to write. It should be illegal. What are your thoughts? How'd Derwin shaping up in your minds?**

Captain Fantastic**: You're very welcome. I knew you'd be happy Karl showed up – your reaction was part of the reason why I posted the chapter so soon, actually. --laughs delightedly-- Did you? Honestly? That makes me smile. Making people act like 5****th**** graders is fantastic. Karl seems to have that effect on people. --grin-- 1) Fixed that, hopefully. 2) Really? That's fascinating. 3) Me too, Captain. Me too. If Fai was a little less grouchy, it would be better, though. Ah, well. I suppose I can forgive him, what with Rose and all. Characters definitely need flaws. Karl is my most flawed character, I think (except perhaps Roddy, but his flaws were more endearing), for further reasons than you see in this story. **

**4) Good question. Derwin's character actually doesn't die, whereas the girls do – to ensure that whomever Iriana wished herself in as, they'd kick off. Lovely, eh? Hopefully I took a step towards fixing your Iriana complaints here, too. 5) Swana is... complicated. 6) I used to have a shirt with cats and pajamas that said "Friends are the cats pajamas" way back in the day. Heh. SECOND: Oh good. I'm glad I'm not the only one. The surprising part to me was that **Lobuck** didn't notice! I suppose we were both preoccupied. Heh. Karl could make an adventurer out of any woman just by smiling at them. Which is totally unfair.**

Faylinn**: --**_**loud**_** laugh-- I suppose 'hawt' would be one way to describe him. A very accurate description, actually. --glances at Caddy's most recent sketch of him-- He is a bit like Rhett, I suppose – except I see Karl as more lean than huge and solid. But, personality-wise... there are definitely similarities. In my defense, I did write him before I read Gone With the Wind. Going into the book is probably a bad idea, indeed. We shall see. Faidn's grumpiness makes me sad, too! You should like the next chapter, then. --smile-- Love square – nice. Lovely thoughts on the relationships; it's nice seeing what my readers see. I'm up to my eyeballs in this story. It's hard to take a step back. SECOND: Yes, I understand that. I still can't believe I did that! Ugh. --chuckle-- Good observation.**

Bingo7**: I thought I was going to go batty with all the moping. **_**I **_**needed Karl. Forget Swana needing him! No, she shouldn't get near the book. And Faidn is usually right, unfortunately. Karl is in chapter 35 of Nasap for a lot of it, and that was recently rewritten. Though, several life-changing instances have happened between then and now, so he's a little different. Ah, hopefully I addressed the Iriana point better in my touchups.**

Mazkeraide**: Fascinating theory, as usual. It definitely would solve the marriage issue. Hum. Hey, don't feel stupid. It happens. I was, too! (Bad at eating dots) That's why I hate them. I always went for the gummy ones. Much less fibrous. Maybe I will write a story with vampirates...**

Pimpernel Princess**: Smacking? I see Faidn as more of the punching type. How handsome could Karl look with a black eye? Heh heh. Now I really want Faidn to slug him, if only so Karl will have a shiner. See what you reviewers reduce me to? --grin--**

Falchion**: Good thought, but thankfully, Derwin is not Hughes. Whew. Heehee.**

**Reviewers get an ice cream float with any flavor of Jones soda they wish!**

**P.S. I'm working on the next chapter now, so any reviews in the next few hours would do wonders for my poor muse. I'd really appreciate it!**


	23. Catch

**13 . 10 . 09**

**Oh, yes. Your eyes do not deceive you. This is, indeed, Billi – bringing you another chapter of Jab. And a long one, at that. To start with, let's look at an excerpt from **_**The Adventures of the Tyra...**_

* * *

_With every grueling day, the four companions drew closer to Winsome Castle, where the Lady Marsha slept on, oblivious that her life was slipping away with every breath she took of the magic-poisoned air. Lilliana dreamt of the room where she was hidden and pressed the others faster. _

_She was the only one who knew what peril Marsha was truly in; if the lady breathed too much magic, she would turn into a living statue, like everyone else in the palace. The Natalie Locket had protected her once, but when it had been stolen from the faithful Wizard Dray who had sacrificed himself to save her, the shield had been shattered. The poisoned air was now seeping into the countryside. If they didn't replace the locket onto the statue of Dray, and soon, the world would slowly turn into stone._

_Lilliana had tried to explain this to the others, but Francis (who was, after all, a half-giant) had expressed the blank looks of the group in a very simple statement:_

"_Lilliana, we can't _go_ any faster. I don't know what you want us to do."_

_The woman wasn't sure herself, but the Natalie Locket against her fingers was a constant reminder of what would happen if Roger found them before they reached Winsome Castle. Not for the first time, Lilliana wished she could have come alone, but the magic required to replace the locket required someone from each Blood._

_Francis was the giant, Deborah the elf, Derwin the human, and Lilliana the sorceress. She was the one who had organized the entire expedition, when she'd heard that the locket had been stolen. Granted, the trio had proved useful in stealing the locket from Roger in the first place, but now they were only slowing her down – especially Derwin. He tried, but he could hardly keep up with an elf, a giant, and a sorceress with nothing but human endurance to aid him._

_And, his human ethics were terribly annoying to the well-educated sorceress. He liked to think that he was, perhaps, more knowledgeable in some things than she._

"_Would you just trust me?" was his favorite phrase, one to which she usually replied with a, "Why should I?" before she did whatever it was that she wanted to do. Granted, he was usually at least partially right, but she was partially right, too, so what did it matter?_

* * *

Iriana was having trouble keeping her thoughts straight; she supposed it was from how tired she was. She still spent her afternoons with Ceilear and Mittlan, but it seemed that the little things went wrong. Ceilear was bossy one day, Mittlan was whiny the next, either of them would throw a fit, Tornado would knock over a priceless vase (with or without the suspected aid of little Mittie) or any number of little tragedies would occur. By themselves, they wouldn't have been so wearying, but day after day she would go straight from mopping up tears in the nursery, to breaking up fights in the sickroom, which was scarcely better.

Faidn was forever snapping at Karl, Sarah was always exhausted, and Gregory dropped whatever he was holding whenever Swana walked into the room. After breaking three glasses, Karl jokingly forbad poor Gregory from picking up breakable items. He flushed crimson and glanced up to see if Swana had heard, but she was too busy discussing something with Sarah and Faidn to give any indication that she had or hadn't.

Karl was the only thing that kept Iriana from screaming, especially after the nerve-scraping sound of glass breaking, for the third time in one day, rang in her ears. He acted so _normal_. He joked about everything, whether it was funny or not, and he seemed to pay an inordinate amount of attention to her, which was flattering. He made a point of ensuring she had something to eat whenever dinner was served, even if she said she wasn't hungry.

"You look out-of-sorts," he would insist, and hand her a plate of food.

His smirky grin never failed to make her smile, though the buoyancy was short lived. Whenever she went back to her chamber at night, the silence was oppressive and nerve-wracking. She tossed and turned when she tried to sleep, waking up with unknown terrors fleeing away on the cobwebs of her mind. What she really wanted was an escape.

She'd read a lot when she was younger; whenever she was upset about something, she'd run to her room and read a book. Reading books to escape reality was a common trick for her back then, but she hadn't picked up any enjoyable book in years. With everything that was going on in her life now, she was seriously considering finding a book to read.

For some strange reason, the first book that occurred to her was _The Adventures of the Tyra._ She shook that thought out of her mind instantly, feeling almost guilty for even having thought of it. Why _would_ she think of that?

"When'th Linna coming back?" Ceilear asked, spinning in endless circles around the small dining room.

"I'm not sure, sweetie," Iriana answered, squinting in concentration at Mittlan, who was artfully avoiding the spoon she poked at him. "We're trying to find her."

Though the boy was four, and had been taught to use silverware, he much preferred the hands-on method for food conveyance. No amount of cajoling would convince him otherwise, so Iriana had given up (with a twinge of guilt for not persisting) and was spoon feeding him herself so as to preserve the pristine nature of his new jerkin and knee-breeches – which were royal blue with silver buckles, much to the amusement of the young child.

"But she'th in a book," Ceilear said, throwing her hands up in a childish dramatic display. "You don't have to _find_ her. Ju'tht write the th'tory differently th'o th'ee can come out!"

"How did you know she was in a book?" Iriana asked suspiciously, but she was quickly distracted, because Mittlan opened his mouth for a moment; it had been closed firmly for the past five minutes. Iriana quickly popped a bite of mashed apples into his mouth. "I'm going to have to tell them to give him finger foods. This is just ridiculous."

Ceilear disregarded the muttered statement, spinning faster as she sing-songed her next words.

"I li'then! I li'then to everything and everyone and everyword and everyevery_every_ lalalaa!"

She collapsed, giggling, on Iriana's lap.

"I feel th'ick."

"That's because you're spinning in circles," Iriana chuckled, darting another bite of apples – the last bite – into Mittlan's mouth when he yawned.

The boy was taken aback, but he was thankfully of his father's more laid-back nature and didn't pitch fits often, even when tricked into doing things he didn't like. Unfortunately, this also meant he rarely spoke, which aggravated her on occasion, especially when he resorted to whining instead of proper speech.

"Tow-nado!" he cried, trying to lean out of his eating chair as the cat stood on its hind paws to investigate his favorite boy's precarious position so far off the ground.

The cat was the recipient of most of Mittlan's speech. Iriana tried not to begrudge Tornado this privilege.

"Mittlan!" Iriana called, trying to get a good angle of his face with the washcloth the servant had left her.

The boy shrieked with laughter as Tornado licked the boy's sticky finger experimentally. Iriana stood up to better reach Mittlan, and Ceilear rolled off her lap with a silly "Whoah!" which indicated she was definitely in the mood for playing. Iriana stifled a yawn and a sigh, hoping the princess would want to play hide-and-go-seek or something else where Iriana would not be required to do very much running around. She really was worn out.

She mopped his face off as best she could, then quickly swabbed his hands as he began to whine in protest.

"Alright, I'm done," she informed him, taking him out of the chair and settling him on her hip.

He clapped and shouted happily. Tornado wound around her feet, purring.

"What are we doing today, Angel?" Iriana asked Ceilear, who was now skipping and prancing around the room.

"I don't know," she sang loudly, then laughed hysterically.

"What about hide-and-go-seek?" Iriana suggested, tripping over Tornado and almost falling.

Mittlan thought this was very funny and promptly began to laugh very, very piercingly in her ear.

"Ouch, shhh, Mittie," she said, wincing and switching Mittlan to her other side.

"Okay!" Ceilear said, bouncing. "I'll go find kid'th to play with u'th!"

"Great!" Iriana said in relief. "I'll be Home Base. Hurry back."

"Ye'th!" the girl crowed, then took off down the hallway like a two-legged version of Tornado in a dress.

_Speak of the devil,_ Iriana thought as Tornado wrapped his lanky body around her legs again.

"Go away," she said, with very little patience, knowing it wouldn't do any good at all.

Mittlan whined and leaned toward Tornado, then looked at her pleadingly. Against her better judgment, she put Mittlan on the ground, after making him say 'please'. That lovely blue outfit was going to be covered in tabby cat fur, but she couldn't trip over the cat all afternoon, or put up with Mittlan's whining.

She did pull Mittlan away when he put the cat's tail in his mouth, however. There were some limits. She was about to engage Mittlan in some nonsense game while they waited for his sister to return, but then she heard several pairs of footsteps, one of which definitely did not belong to a child.

Blowing some hair out of her face, she looked up and saw Faidn, a child's hand in each of his own. Her eyebrows knit together. Why was he here? He rarely left the sick room, and when he did, he didn't often come to see _her. _He'd been acting a bit frostily toward her since she'd gone with Karl to talk to Derwin, which annoyed Iriana. She didn't take his advice, that was true, but she didn't think she deserved the silent treatment for it.

"We need a mediator," Faidn said, trying to act serious, though Iriana could tell he was trying not to smile.

_Wow, he's in a ... good mood. I think. I'm not sure I've ever really seen him in a good mood._ She directed her gaze at the errant children, giving herself time to come up with an answer.

Stephen looked sullen and tried to yank his hand free. Ceilear, in contrast to her crazy bubbliness of a few minutes earlier, was equally stony.

"What seems to be the cause of the dissension in the ranks, General?" she asked, standing up straight and swinging Mittlan onto her hip for safekeeping. He was notorious for making incredible mischief in only a few errant moments, especially with Tornado around.

"Whether or not a hidee can lock a door behind him," Faidn reported crisply. "Stephen says yes, and Ceilear, no."

"Present your cases," Iriana said firmly. "Ladies first."

"He can pick lock'th. I can't! Th'o if he lock'th a door, I can't find him!"

"No whining," Iriana warned. "Stephen?"

"I can pick locks," he admitted, rather unwillingly, "but she's the princess! She can get the keys whenever she wants!"

"Hm, valid point," Iriana granted. "What do you think, Mittlan?"

"Can I play?" he asked eagerly, bouncing.

"Nooo," Ceilear complained.

"You're not very helpful, advisor," Iriana told Mittlan, making a face at him. The boy laughed. "No locks, _because," _she spoke over Stephen's protests, "Ceilear will get in trouble for pestering people about keys, and Stephen will get in trouble if they realize he knows how to pick locks. Now, if you can stop arguing long enough to find some kids to play with you, I'll be waiting here for countdown."

They ran off, still caviling about the merits of both sides. Iriana chuckled, and it took her a moment to realize that Faidn was chuckling too.

"How did you get involved in that?" Iriana asked him, putting Mittlan down on the ground again and watching him carefully as he patted Tornado' head gently. The cat rubbed his cheek against Mittlan's and chirruped.

"I always go about seeking peace," Faidn said airily.

Iriana looked at him for a moment, but didn't answer; he was talking to her, lightly. The grim set was all but gone from his face, and his eyes were even sparkling a little. Perhaps he'd finally forgiven her for whatever wrong he thought she'd committed. She frowned. _It was my decision._

She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she was especially aggravated with his cold demeanor because she was beginning to think his advice wasn't so misguided after all. She was forcibly reminded of the night she had gone with Karl; when she'd let go of Karl's hand, she'd felt the unmistakable tug of tiny threads. Looking down in panic, however, she had found nothing there. when they returned, she had felt odd and jumpy, like there was something just over her shoulder she couldn't see. And then, Karl told her to get some sleep, but then her dreams were full of strings and books and Derwin's face...

Faidn looked over at the princess after a minute of silence. She was frowning at something. He glanced at Mittie for a moment to be sure he wasn't getting into trouble, then let his eyes wander over the hallway. It was rich and elegant, and altogether not to his taste, like everything else in this palace. He looked back at Iriana, wishing Swana hadn't thrown him out of the sick room.

"_Go find something useful to do,"_ she'd ordered, and the tone in her voice left no room for argument.

That he'd been immediately set upon by the bickering pair was helpful. Their silly argument helped to put him in a better mood, but this woman's bristling silence was puzzling him. He supposed he could just bid her good day and find something else to do, but he had no idea what that would be. He might as well find out what was bothering her. It was probably something silly, and then he could fix it.

It would be nice to be able to solve a problem, for once.

"What's bothering you?" he asked as they started walking down the corridor, following Mittlan.

She looked at him sharply, like she wasn't sure he meant what he said. He felt like rolling his eyes. He didn't play word games, unlike all the rest of her cronies.

"Do you have to ask?" Her voice was surprisingly hostile.

"No, but I thought it would be polite," he said, trying to keep the mood easy, though his hackles rose a bit. His mind was spinning back through the previous days to see if he'd done something impolite he was unaware of.

_But then, if I was unaware of it, then I wouldn't know, would I? _Her behavior with Karl had been rather annoying, but he'd never commented on it, so that couldn't be it.

She sighed a little (rather unladylike, he thought) and looked away.

"Honestly, princess, I don't know why you're upset," he said candidly, though perhaps with a touch of frustration. "Please enlighten me."

She looked at him queerly; she did that a lot – look at him instead of talk to him. It was odd, and a bit unsettling.

"I know I did something you didn't approve of, General, by going with Karl into the book, but that doesn't mean I deserve your censure," she said at last.

"My censure?" he asked. Now it was his turn to look at her oddly. "I never said anything."

_That didn't even bother me, really. It's not like my advice is law – even though I _still_ think it was a bad idea._

"Saying something would have been better than ignoring me," she retorted, steering Mittlan subtly away from a small table with crystal figurines on it.

"Ig—I wasn't ignoring you," Faidn said with a chuckle. She was upset because he hadn't been talking to her? This would be easy enough to fix.

She wasn't laughing.

"You used to at least say something to me: hello, goodbye, pass the washcloth – something," she persisted.

"You're always talking to Karl, now," he said, careful to keep his voice neutral. "I didn't want to ... intrude. Karl might get jealous."

Iriana coughed over a laugh.

"What?" he said, frowning.

"Nothing," she said, grinning. "I just don't see Karl being jealous of you."

"Or at least not admitting it," Faidn corrected, smiling.

_There, now her problem is fixed. That wasn't so bad._

"So, why are you out here, anyway?" she questioned. "Is Rose doing better?"

"No," he said, thinking about her pale, drawn face. "Swana wanted to be alone. She'll figure it out. She always does."

He felt like he was convincing himself more than he was convincing her. For some reason, Iriana found this amusing too, but when questioned, she just muttered something about men that Faidn couldn't quite catch. He changed the subject.

"How are you handling everything? I mean – with the news about Hughes being after you and all."

She met his eyes briefly, looking taken aback, then picked up Mittlan before he squeezed through the railing surrounding the small fountain. He wondered how surprising he really was – she certainly looked at him like he was doing something strange almost every time he did anything.

"Alright, I suppose," she said with a shrug.

He knew that look. That meant she was worried but didn't want to say anything. Rose did that a lot. But then, she surprised him by continuing on.

"I don't really know what to think. Do you know anything about magic? How worried should I be about this Sorcerer getting me? Should I ... leave?"

"I don't know a lot," he said slowly, "but if it was safer for you to be gone, Swana would have told you to leave. She might want to keep an eye on you. Whoah!"

He snatched the cat out of midair before he jumped onto a table with a rickety lamp.

"Nice catch," Iriana said loudly, over Mittlan's shriek of laughter.

"I'm an expert," Faidn said dissmissively, throwing the cat carelessly onto the floor, where it mewled indignantly.

"Let me guess, and good with kids, too?" Iriana said as he suddenly swooped down on Mittlan and tossed him into the air.

Though his eyes were on Mittlan, he saw Iriana wince out of the corner of his eye.

"You think I'll drop him?" Faidn accused, catching him easily.

Mittlan was laughing so hard he was almost choking.

"Do it again! Do it again, Uncle Fai!"

He obliged, sending Mittlan flying higher.

"Yes, I do," Iriana said, stepping closer – as if she could catch him. Faidn caught him securely.

"Women," Faidn muttered, making a face at Mittlan, who was red-faced and demanding another go.

He tossed him again, and he saw Iriana's eyes following the boy as he flew into the air.

"Faidn!" she yelped, just before he caught him.

"Relax, princess," he said with a smile, tousling the boy's child-blonde hair. He decided not to comment on the fact that she'd called him by his name instead of his title, as she usually did.

She took a deep breath; just then, a good-sized group of children came bounding towards them. Stephen and Ceilear were at the lead, still arguing, though this time over who should be 'it' first. Iriana quickly solved that problem by naming another girl 'it' and beginning the countdown before anyone else could object. Less than two minutes after they arrived, the whole crowd was gone again.

Mittlan had tired of being thrown into the air and was beginning to whine. Faidn hastily turned him over to Iriana, who bounced him while they continued to walk.

"Not so daring when it comes to cranky children," Iriana teased.

"There are two things a soldier cannot face: the wrath of a woman and the whine of child," Faidn said. "Logic and reason are useless on both."

Iriana laughed, causing Mittlan to stir in his sleep.

"I'll have to concede that point, General."

They walked on in silence, turning around at the end of the corridor, so that the children would know where to find Iriana, their Home Base.

Faidn's thoughts began to wander back to Rose and Lilliana and some half-formulated ideas he'd had about the book. Before long, he found that he was talking aloud, and, much to his surprise, Iriana was listening and offering some ideas of her own.

* * *

"Carvin!" Nre called, out of breath.

She had just taken the hallway at a full-out run, in heels, in order to catch her husband before he went into another meeting with the representatives from Trule, Molln, and Grendath. They had only just arrived that morning, and they had rarely left the council room.

"What is it?" he asked, his mind obviously elsewhere.

"I—" Nre started, but found she couldn't continue. She changed tacks. "Should I have dinner brought to you?"

"That would be wonderful," he said with a distant smile, then kissed her on the cheek. "I'd better get in there. Have you seen Faidn? I told him he needed to be here at four."

"I haven't," Nre said, "but if I see him, I'll send him in."

"Thanks, love."

"Break a leg," she replied, mustering a smile.

He nodded and entered the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. She stared at the door, fighting a battle in her mind.

"I wouldn't go in there," Faidn advised, walking up.

"I wasn't going to," she said. "But, if I _was_ thinking about it, I wouldn't ask you for advice."

Faidn ignored the jab and scratched his head, pausing in front of the door.

"I don't want to go in there," he groaned to himself, though as soon as he said it, he braced himself for some demeaning remark about his work ethic.

When she didn't say anything, he looked over his shoulder at her. She looked lost and upset. It was a truly feminine posture, and his first thought was to walk into the meeting room quickly and pretend he hadn't seen anything. But, he knew something was bothering Carvin, too – something more than his missing daughter and impending war, though those two were enough to make anyone antsy.

So, hoping he'd get some sort of bonus points for this (after all, it was the second womanly problem he'd taken on in one day) he turned toward her.

"Is everything okay? I mean – with you and Carvin."

_Awkward question!_

"It's fine," she growled. "I definitely don't need marriage advice from _you,_ of all people."

"I care about Carvin, too," Faidn said defensively. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I just want you two to be happy. It's bad enough with Rose, and Lilliana, and the country on the brink of war, whether we like it or not. You two... just need each other."

He pushed the door open and walked into the meeting room, leaving Nre in the hall wondering if she'd been wrong about Faidn after all.

* * *

**I honestly can't recall if I've replied to your reviews or not, so I'm replying again. --chuckle--**

Mazkeraide**: Rose does realize she's dreaming, which just adds to the horror of her situation. --laugh!-- Yes, a relationship between Rose and Faidn could, indeed, strain his marriage with Iriana. O.o I vote for the Spiderman theory, just because I like the thought of her swinging from building to building. Teehee. Heh, I **_**am**_** trying to make Linna realistic, which includes the cute and nasty sides of being a pre-teenaged, spoiled princess. Yes, wait and see your speculation proved right about Aerin. If I put it in now, it would be most anti-climactic. A place for everything and everything in its place. --grin--**

Captain Fantastic**: --serves up your long-overdue float-- Karl would find you more than slightly amusing, after he got over the fact that you probably wouldn't swoon at his every word. --laughs as she imagines this-- Hughes needs punched in the face. Agreed. Thanks for the compliments on my metaphors. I enjoyed writing them (forever ago). oOo, an ice-dragon would be slick. --pause-- Cadmus, turn into an ice-dragon. --Cadmus looks at me, then goes back to his easel-- Oh well. It was worth a shot. About Faidn and Rose? You'd never thought of them? Hm... Think away, my dear. Linna isn't a very delightful specimen of child-kind, I don't think – but, then again, what child is? They're all rather bratty from time to time, and delightful upon occasion. Ah, well. Yay Karl, indeed. I swear, if he didn't have the overwhelming capacity to turn into a Stu, I'd write an entire story about him. But, alas. x.x**

Faylinn**: I'll endeavor not to make you sad. --encouraging smile-- Long reviews are **_**always**_** better than short ones. I'm actually not usually so great at the metaphorical mish-mash myself, but I was in an odd mood that day. Occasionally, I can switch off the logical part of my brain and just sit there and think about weird connotation and associations for things. Karl is macho. And I love him. --happy smile-- Linna is such a silly little girl – I love her, too.**

Lauralou12579**: Well, I should say that paying attention in class is more important than reading my story – but I am, nonetheless, very flattered. --smile-- I'm glad you enjoyed it so much! Karl is really a blast, but there is an underlying tone of... "something". --smile-- Good catch, there.**

EVA**: Go ahead and cheer for Rose – she needs it. --sympathetic look at the poor girl-- Good call on not trusting Karl; he's not a very trustworthy fellow, in general. Heh.**

Pimpernel Princess**: It was interesting for me to get into Rose's head, too. And hard. She's such a unique character – so strong, but weak at the same time. It's perplexing. I wouldn't want to go home if I was in a book, either! --laugh-- Thanks for the ideas for Faidn, too... --is imagining a throwdown between the two of them and grinning wickedly--**

Falchion**: Rose knew Derwin was a person trapped in the story because she's been examining the book for a while and picking up on the hints he was dropping. And yes; Derwin hasn't told Linna she's going to die because he doesn't want to worry her. Can you blame him? --laugh-- Thanks – I'm glad you liked that description.**

Elle Michelle**: I know, seriously; Rose should have punched Hughes. Unfortunately, her guts don't quite extend to that level. Ah, well. Derwin's been stuck in the book for... well, quite a while. --smile-- The point of the book's magic is that, once you start reading it, you'll almost certainly wish yourself into it, just because of the magic. Rose managed to escape that fate, but she grew obsessed with an aspect of the book, anyway (getting Derwin out) so the magic still had a grip on her. See?**

**If anyone's out there, reviews would be dandy. I'll give you a 100 Grand bar for your trouble. --hopeful smile--**


	24. Of Three Strands

**20 . 10 . 09**

**Hark! The herald emails... read? It's Billi, back with another chapter. --grin-- Buckle your seatbelts – this is a big chapter: eight pages in my word processor. And not only is it big, it's dense. Sorry for the info-dump after my long absence, but it's all sort of necessary.**

**Random thought: Why do we say 'word processor'? It makes Microsoft Word sound like a blender or something. --Caddy starts whirring up a Jab-chocolate-shake in his Turbo OpenStarWord 2000--**

**Disclaimer: Swana is technically mine but mostly **Lobuck**'s, and Sarah belongs to **offandaway**, from way back in Nasap. Karl is mine, but I'm loaning him out. All proceeds go to the "Stop The Needless War in Ladyra" fund.**

* * *

Lilliana rolled over and tried to sleep, but her mind was too busy being aggravated at Derwin. He wouldn't give up the idea of her getting out of the book, even though she told him repeatedly that she didn't want to. And, when she asked why he was so insistent, he avoided the question and told her to trust him, that he knew what was best. Just because he was an adult – or, at least, she assumed he was an adult, since he most _certainly_ acted like one – didn't mean he could boss her around. She'd had enough of that at home. She was on an adventure, now, and there was no way she was going home before she saved the day!

Her daydreams of heroism slowly morphed into deep dreams of feeling important and relying on herself, and she fell asleep.

* * *

_As the foursome drew closer to Winsome Castle, Derwin became anxious. He insisted that there was something wrong – why hadn't Roger caught them? They hadn't seen or heard of him in weeks._

"_Because we're faster," Deborah said, but she was frowning, too._

"_And Lilliana's magic is stronger," Francis added, putting a weighty hand on Derwin's shoulder._

"_Stop worrying," Lilliana said in annoyance, but upon seeing the look on Derwin's face, she hesitated. "Derwin," she said, a little softer, "if there was something funny going on, I would know. I have over fifty trigger-spells set up."_

"_But they're not foolproof," Derwin said, looking over his shoulder nervously. "Can't you just trust me when I say that something isn't right?"_

"_No, I can't!" she burst out, tired of his plea. "We don't have the same goal in this mission!"_

"_Your goal leads to mine," he said. "So let me help."_

"_How?" she demanded._

_They stared at each other, Lilliana hot and defiant, Derwin cool and a little sad._

"_That's where you have to trust me," he said gently, taking her hand. She didn't pull away. "I _do_ know what's best this time. You can't see everything, Lilli."_

"_Best for me, or best for everyone else?" she said, her voice low and edged._

"_You know the answer."_

"_And that's why I won't trust you."_

_She tugged her hand free of his and strode on along the path._

* * *

Iriana walked beside Faidn down the corridor; he'd taken to escorting her to her chamber at night. They'd talk of magic, Lilliana, Rose, and sometimes about other things – like his family, or her childhood. She'd found their discussions of Cameron fascinating, as she'd only seen the very soft big-brother side of him, and not the more princely, brave side that Faidn remembered. When he talked of his ideas and frustrations, though, she had the feeling that he wasn't talking _with_ her so much as he was talking aloud while she happened to be there.

Before, she might have thought it lonely or rude, but now she found it fascinating. She idly wondered if he did the same thing to anyone else, but then decided firmly that it didn't matter. It was interesting to see how his mind worked when he went on for a while about some dilemma Swana had brought up. His thoughts and concerns were always for one problem at a time, and almost never how one problem would affect another – it was up to Iriana to point that out. He was very focused on people and how each possibility might affect Rose or Lilliana or Derwin personally, rather than entertain any large-scale thoughts.

Faidn was just musing on the possibility that Rose might wake up when Lilliana came out of the book, when another figure approached them in the hall.

"Faidn. My princess," the smooth voice said.

Iriana found herself smiling at the self-assured tone that could not possibly be anyone but Karl.

"Karl," Faidn and Iriana acknowledged synchronously.

"I'm sure you're tired, General. I'll escort the princess to her chambers," Karl said, coming up beside Iriana and letting his hand brush hers.

Iriana half expected Faidn to continue talking as they walked; he seemed so intent in his thoughts that he might have missed the question. She was somewhat surprised when he stopped talking, and walking, and looked at Karl head-on.

"Just escorting?" He looked skeptical, and perhaps slightly amused, but it was hard to tell.

"Yes, just escorting her," Karl said, deftly coming between them and looping his arm through hers so Faidn was forced to take a step back.

Iriana hadn't noticed how closely they'd been walking until Karl had replaced him.

"What are you, her father?" he asked Faidn snidely.

"Technically, her fiancé," Faidn muttered.

"Her? You?" Karl said, eyebrows shooting up.

He turned back to Iriana and whispered conspiratorially.

"You know, you haven't said 'I do' yet. You can still reconsider."

"It's a long story," Iriana laughed.

A part of her wanted to keep walking with Faidn, with only the dim and the quiet and the two of them – but there was no way to refuse Karl now without seeming rude.

"Good night, General," she said, tipping her head deferentially.

"Princess," Faidn replied, his eyes unreadable as he backtracked down the corridor, either to his room or back to the sick room, Iriana wasn't sure which.

"You're welcome," Karl said cheerily, indefatigable smirk set on his face.

"Excuse me?" Iriana asked, bringing her mind back to him.

"For saving you from whatever blather Faidn goes on about to you every night."

_Has it really been every night?_

"It wasn't blather," she said truthfully.

Karl rolled his eyes and walked closer to her than was strictly necessary.

"You don't have to defend him, Princess. He's out of earshot."

Iriana couldn't help one last look over her shoulder; Faidn had gone.

"I'm serious," she said, chuckling when Karl jostled her, which completely undermined her position.

"Why are we talking about Faidn?" Karl cried. "How dull."

"You started it," Iriana pointed out, settling her arm more comfortably around his.

"That I did," Karl allowed. "And now I'm ending it. You look lovely this evening, Iriana—if I may?"

"Please. I'm not overly fond of my title. It gets me into more trouble than it gets me out of."

"An excellent reason to dislike it," Karl agreed with a grin. "I would – and have – done the same thing."

There was a very slight pause before Iriana posed a question that had been bothering her since Swana first arrived.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he said, looking at her sidelong.

"Something Swana said doesn't make sense," she said quickly.

"Everything she says makes sense, in some way or another," Karl said with a smile.

Iriana rolled her eyes at him and went on.

"When she was telling the story, she said Hughes' plan could make him a king. What did she mean?"

Instead of a quick retort, like she had been expecting, Karl was silent; he seemed to be looking for the right words. Iriana watched his face for a reply, noticing anew how handsome he really was.

"Part of the spell," Karl said finally, looking up and catching her staring at him, which made her blush, "is that whoever breaks the spell will become the ruler of Grendath. It's some very complicated magic thing, but, in essence, the magic would either coerce the ruler into abdicating to this person, or it would kill him."

"What?" Iriana cried, all embarrassment forgotten. "If the spell is _broken_, how could it do that?"

"All the leftover magic released when the spell is broken has to go somewhere," Karl said with a small shrug. "It's tremendously difficult to channel after-magic, but, despite his pettiness, Hughes was a very shrewd wizard."

"Can't you undo that part of the spell?" Iriana asked, thinking of her parents and swallowing hard.

"Maybe," Karl said uncertainly, "but it would be much less risky to everyone involved if we just ensured that you were the one to 'break the spell.' Otherwise, we're gambling with the lives of Lilliana, Rose, and Derwin. Tampering with spells after they're already cast is a deadly business. Don't worry – Swana has already thought of you and will do everything she can to make sure you can keep your throne."

For some reason, Iriana felt vaguely disappointed by his solution, but she said nothing.

"Unless you _wanted_ to give up your throne," Karl said, examining her face closely.

"No, of course not," Iriana said sharply, but not convincingly.

"I couldn't blame you if you did," Karl continued with an elaborate shrug. "There is much more you can do if you're not a princess, although most of the time, I believe I forget you are one at all. For example, because you are a princess, it is really not at all appropriate for me to escort you to your chambers at such a late hour, unsupervised. If you're just Iriana, as I prefer to think of you, then I believe it would be perfectly appropriate: a polite gesture between friends."

"I prefer 'friend' to 'princess,'" Iriana said, amused. "Ah, if my mother heard, she would be mortified. 'A rogue fairy!' she'd cry."

Iriana shook her head.

"Well, she would be right," Karl said, considering the statement and unobtrusively shifting closer. "I am a rogue, I mean."

"Oh, I know that."

"Do you?" Karl questioned.

"Yes," Iriana replied. "It's very easy to tell, just by looking at you."

"By my devilish good looks?" he guessed.

"Partially."

"My unfailing charm?"

"Another good point, but that's not it."

"By my impeccable timing?"

"Not really," Iriana said after a pause.

"Are you saying that I don't have impeccable timing, or that it doesn't make me a rogue? Because if it's the former, I'm still convinced you were bored out of your brain and are just too polite to say so."

"The latter, then," she decided. She was enjoying herself far too much.

"You're just saying that because you don't want to argue," Karl said shrewdly.

"And if I am?"

"I think you're afraid I'll find you out."

"Ah," she said with a fake sigh. "You've caught me."

"Huh, I knew it," he said smugly, then frowned. "Wait, did the conversation wrap around to Faidn again?"

"Indirectly," Iriana said, smiling.

"Then I'm changing the subject again. Did I tell you that I like your sense of humor?"

"I don't believe so. Thank you."

"That," Karl said after a pause, "was your cue to say something funny."

"And what are you, a director of plays?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

"As a matter of fact, I'm quite the actor."

"I think that goes along with being a rogue," Iriana said thoughtfully.

"Did I ever guess how you could tell I was a rogue?" he asked, straightening comically in remembrance.

"Um," she murmured, thinking. "No, I don't think so."

"Then I must keep guessing," Karl informed her.

"Be my guest," she said, sweeping her hand grandly.

"Is it because I'm a fairy?"

"Not really."

"Does that mean partially yes?"

"Keep guessing!" she cried, laughing.

"Because I automatically gravitate toward the prettiest girl in the room?" he said with a smile.

"Another large part, but you haven't guessed the biggest thing."

"I give up," he said after a long pause, in which they reached Iriana's chamber.

Neither of them made move to open the door.

"Your over-confidence!" she declared. "You're always smirking, and you never stop to question whether people are going to like what you do or say. You just do it. That's how I knew you were a rogue."

"Oh, you mean, when I do things like this?"

And before she knew it, Karl had an arm fully wrapped about her waist, and his slightly grinning face was a scant inch from hers. Her heart skipped erratically in surprise, and her startled gasp brought in a lungful of spicy, masculine scent. She was eternally grateful that she managed to keep her voice steady.

"That's exactly what I mean, you rogue. Now, unhand me and bid me good night like a gentleman."

Karl released her with a wide grin and bowed low.

"Good night, Iriana."

"Good night, Karl," she said with a nod, not trusting her suddenly shaky knees to curtsy.

She walked into her room and shut the door behind her, then leaned heavily on it. She took a deep, wobbly breath and let it out. Karl was definitely a rogue, but a very handsome and charming one.

_Still, _she thought as she slid the bolt on the door, before she began to undress, _he's a rogue, and I don't trust him._

* * *

A meeting had been in session since seven o'clock in the morning, and it was now nine o'clock at night with no sign of letting up. Representatives from countries all over Ladyra had been trickling in; Berensia was not the only country holding councils on the upcoming war. Those most passionate about it were trying to travel the country, gathering supporters and allies for either side. Others came to Berensia seeking advice, since Prince Alphonse and Prince Carvin were well-known for their wisdom and careful consideration of any point.

Rumors that Swana was currently residing in the palace also helped to gather many important people. She was renowned for her prowess as a sorcerer and as a solid, objective voice in any argument. She thought through the argument and took a side, then never wavered from her position. Philettin and Rijhad were both eager to convince her that their side was right.

Currently, there were representatives from Grendath, Molln, Sanjado, Yerc, Rijhad, Trule, Philettin, and even Terriot. The day had been littered with tense moments between the opposing sides, but, as yet, no punches had been thrown. That might have had to do with Swana's presence. Though she was a nuisance to some countries, (being constantly opposed to what they tried to convince her of) she was generally well-respected. When she talked, people listened.

Philettin's General Griil was unusually eloquent for a Philettin, claiming grievances against Rijhad in the past war, fought ten years previous. Poverty from ruined farmland, unfairly annexed land, and unreturned captives were among the list of complaints.

The representatives from Rijhad were Lord Beckham and Sir Rafe, and they both denied the existence of any such captives, then pleaded for allies to help them settle the dispute peaceably. The king of Rijhad wanted to avoid war, but he could not agree to Philettin's outrageous terms. He hoped accruing allies to his side would show the Philettins that a war would be costly and hopeless. Lord Downs of Terriot and Duchess Friar of Yerc, who had already allied with Rijhad, exemplified Rijhad's innocence and called General Griil several rude names before Swana told them to keep the discussion relevant.

Captain Alyce of Sanjado made a stirring speech in favor of Philettin, pointing out the suffering the masses often went through while the leaders frittered away lives. Sanjado stood for the people, he said, and she always would. It was a war of principle.

Lord Illun from Grendath placed Grendath's sympathies with Philettin's people, though he wasn't ready to make a formal alliance yet. The short tempered Earl Rondsbe of Molln seemed eager to listen to Philettin as well. Stoic as always, Lord Dougan of Trule made it abundantly clear that no amount of pretty words would force Trule to jeopardize her own people in a huge conflict that would almost certainly have no agreeable ending.

General Griil and Captain Alyce accused the Trule of betraying their people a chance to spread justice, and that almost turned into a fistfight. Carvin and Alphonse calmed the altercation, and then reiterated Berensia's support and duplication of Trule's decision. When questioned about the General's proposal to the Grendathian Crown Princess, Carvin neatly summed than not all marriages were alliances; it did not change Berensia's political position. Not everyone looked convinced, but they more or less accepted the story.

Griil and Alyce seemed to be dominating the conversation, and Carvin's sharp eyes knew Rijhad wasn't coming out well, despite the fact that it had more solidly allied representatives in the room than Philettin did. Grendath's leaning toward Philettin was a blow to Rijhad's side, as well; Grendath had a formidable army. And, unlike most of the others countries in the West, it was in excellent practice, having just quelled an invasion from the islands to the north about five months prior.

That was when Swana began to speak. Everyone was listening, eager for a hint as to which side she supported, but she listed vices and virtues from both Rijhad and Philettin in equal measure. After only a minute or two of that, she paused.

"No country is perfect, as no leader is perfect," she said, folding her arms. "Neither is any country irrecoverably wicked. Not every disagreement must be settled with a war. In some cases, war is necessary. In this case, however, it is not. Philettin should recall her statement of war and seek to settle peaceably with Rijhad. King Roderic is a fair and generous man; he will listen to your requests and compromise. If, however, Philettin persists in this war, it must be avoided by other measures."

When her short speech drew to a close, she made no requests, but her advice was evident, albeit unspoken. If Philettin would not withdraw, and it was very likely that she would not, then the rest of the unallied countries should side with Rijhad and thus stop the war before it began.

Unless Philettin capitulated.

Silence and stony faces were their reply.

* * *

"Do you have a loom?" Swana asked Carvin as they walked out of the council room at eleven forty-five.

Everyone was heading to their chambers tiredly, to catch a few hours of sleep before the meeting reconvened at six o'clock.

"A—loom?" he asked, blinking slowly. "I'm not sure. Probably, somewhere."

"May I have use of it?" she asked.

"Of course," he said quickly, looking at her. "I'll have a servant fetch it and bring it to your chamber."

Her eyes were sharp and flashing, and her vibrant hair was beginning to fall loose around her face. She looked frightening.

"I don't need it in my room," she said.

"Alright," Carvin said slowly, then called over a servant who was extinguishing the lanterns and torches in the council room.

A minute of whispered conference revealed that there was indeed a loom, though it hadn't been used recently and might be in a state of disrepair.

"I'll mend it," Swana said shortly. "Take me to it."

The servant began leading her down the hallway. Carvin turned to go to his chamber, but his curiosity overruled his exhaustion. He followed them. The woman took them down onto the first underground floor, lighting torches as she went. Darkness scattered in the weaving flamelight.

After a few turns, she opened a door with one of the keys she had in her pocket and lit the torches and lamps in the storeroom. After procuring a box of spools of thick thread, she curtseyed and left them. Swana wordlessly inspected the loom, which stood at just half her height. She knelt, and placed her hands on different rods and joints, as if testing them for soundness. If she used any magic, Carvin couldn't tell it from her general inspection of the machine.

He himself knew nothing at all about weaving, and was thus perplexed; he could not divine how to use that boxy, wooden structure to make anything that would even vaguely resemble a rug, or a blanket, or a tapestry. However, it seemed that Swana knew exactly what to do. After the loom itself had satisfied her, she reached into the box and pulled out a spool of the thick thread, examining it closely.

"I weave when I am angry, or need to think," she said, unraveling the spool partway and testing the tightness of the string with her finger.

She kept her eyes on her work. He didn't reply.

He watched silently as she prepared the device for weaving, stretching strings across the machine until the front of it was covered in vertical lines of light, earthy colors, closely set. She then rummaged around in the box for several more minutes.

"So much of our lives here is spent destroying things," she said at last, still picking through the colors. "Creating things that will last, things that will help people, is important."

She finally chose a color, coral red, and walked back to the loom. Picking up a wooden instrument he hadn't noticed before – a shuttle, he suddenly thought it was called – she rubbed at the hole in the center, which was just big enough to admit the spool. After a moment, she carefully fit the spool in and wound the string through the shuttle so it hung out one end.

"And with this loom, I'm reminded of something crucial – something that everyone, especially those who are acclaimed to be wise, often forget."

While she spoke, she had been working with the strings, and was now passing the wooden device between and around the vertical ones, trailing the coral thread behind it. After she'd woven the string from one end to the other, she paused and looked up at Carvin. Her eyes were serious and wise, but more human than he'd seen before.

"We are only a fiber."

She left him to think on this as she slipped the shuttle in and around the strings several more times. The coral was visible in some places and not in others, and Carvin wondered what she was doing.

"We are only the tiniest hair of a thread in this loom. Our lives are fragile. They can snap at any moment."

Whether by accident or design, the coral thread caught on a splinter on the loom's frame, breaking a few fibers.

"We never know when a life could end, whether yours or that of someone you love."

She kept weaving, and didn't speak again until she tied the coral thread off and deftly severed it. Carvin thought of Nre and Lilliana, and of his two youngest children. He and Nre were hardly speaking, except to convince each other that Lilliana was alright. They weren't exactly fighting, but...

Swana removed the coral thread from the shuttle and went back to the box.

"I've seen the lives of too many rulers ruined by their own love for their country," she said, pulling out a sky blue spool and fitting it into the shuttle. "A ruler who thinks only of his country is just as bad as the one who never thinks of it at all. Neither of them has good judgment. Neither of them will make the right choice for the right reason."

The blue thread darted around the vertical strings in a different pattern than the red. She seemed to be thinking aloud, and, for now, she was silent. She switched blue for purple and kept weaving. She didn't speak again until she began to weave with a rose-pink thread.

"And like the many fibers in one thread, we all have an effect on others through the decisions we make, whether directly or indirectly. Some make the right decisions and are dealt a harsh hand for someone else's mistake. Some make the wrong choice and reap the rewards of another man's wisdom. We try to make fair decisions to make up for the unfairness in this world, but find ourselves falling short all too often."

Her hands paused for a split second, then they continued shuffling the pink thread through the others.

"Your influence spreads farther than you think."

She put a hand on what she had already woven and closed her eyes. Her fingers caressed the weave, feeling the slight imperfections and tracing the pattern Carvin still could not see, though she was nearing the end of her blanket. She changed the color again, this time to an earthbound green.

"Above everything else, weaving this way reminds me that there is a big picture no person can see. I am where I am, and when I am, for a reason I may never know. Every fiber of every string of every color of every type is playing a role in this pattern."

She tied off the green and sat back, looking at her blanket.

"And sometimes, fibers are twisted together after they are apart. Sometimes they're not. A broken string is not always broken if it leaves something behind."

Carvin wanted to ask what she meant, but Swana was looking at the blanket intently, and Carvin sensed that she wouldn't answer if he asked. Carvin stared at the blanket, too. Red, blue, purple, pink, and pale green, with dark blues, earthy greens, browns, and some beige coming to the forefront.

"What's the pattern?" Carvin asked, and he felt like he was asking about more than just the blanket.

"It's there," Swana said simply. "And it's here."

* * *

Faidn walked back into the sickroom, his steps heavier than usual. Sarah looked up, blinking haze from her eyes, to see what was the matter with her friend. He was scowling lightly. He joined her at Rose's side, sliding into the chair with ease.

"That was fast," she observed quietly.

Stephen was asleep with his head on Dannlin's lap just across the room. Gregory was flipping pages of the book idly, and Dannlin was looking on. She was trying to keep her voice low, so as not to disturb them.

"Karl cut in," he said, quietly as well. The room seemed to draw a hush around it; it was almost impossible to speak loudly.

"He's a scallawag," Sarah said, chuckling.

Faidn didn't even smile, just placed his left hand on Rose's arm and let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sigh. Sarah eyed him closely. For a moment, Sarah saw a trace of that boy she'd thought was crazy so long ago – the one who jested with the servants and complained loudly at the setting of a sprained wrist. But then it was gone, and he was looking intently at Rose's face for any change. She began to realize that there was perhaps more on his mind than even he wanted to admit.

"What are you going to do about her?" Sarah asked carefully.

"I don't have to marry her," he said gruffly, then rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply. "But I don't know what else to do."

"You do have a little bit of time," Sarah reminded him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "No one expects you to get married right away."

He didn't say anything, and neither did she. Sarah bit her lip and removed her hand.

"Faidn, I know there's more that you're not saying."

"Like what?" he snapped. "I've either got to be some sort of prince regent or leave a woman shamed for life? Did I forget to mention that part?"

His knuckles were white, clenching his right hand into a fist on the bed. Sarah didn't even address that statement. She was trying to meet his eyes, but he was staring at Rose.

"I warned her," he finally said, through clenched teeth. "I swear, I _warned_ her this would happen, Sarah. And now I'm stuck with this decision. I know she's going to tell me it'll be alright if I break this off, because that's how she is, but it _won't_ be alright. I try to avoid court, but that doesn't mean I don't know how malicious court women can be. She'll never live it down. She'll have one stupid choice hanging over her head for the rest of her life."

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly back and forth, hopeless frustration evident.

"But I can't marry her."

"Why?"

The question was small, and should have had a sharp, quick answer. But Faidn just stared at her.

"There has to be another way."

"But what if there isn't?" Sarah pushed. "What if you either have to marry her or desert her? What would you do?"

"I—" he hesitated. Sarah could see memories and imagined futures galloping through his head. "I... would marry her."

"Tell her that," Sarah urged. "She's worried sick about this, but she'd never ask you to go through with it."

"I don't have to marry her," Faidn repeated, looking back at Rose.

Sarah let the silence fill his mind for a minute.

"You can't go on denying that you like her," Sarah said, her voice grating on his ears.

He turned to her, eyes flashing, obviously intending to deny it. She stared at him with the superiority of one who knows she's right, and he looked away.

"Good. You weren't ever a good liar, anyhow," Sarah said, rubbing Rose's thumbnail between her fingers.

"It doesn't matter," he said simply. "I don't have to marry her. That would ruin both of our lives."

Sarah was about to respond, when suddenly Rose gripped her hand so tightly that she yelped in pain and tried to free her hand.

"What is—" Faidn started, his eyes darting up to Rose's face.

Her eyes were still shut, but her face was deathly pale and wrenched up as if in terrible pain. Her slack mouth fell open slightly, and it looked chillingly like a scream was trying to force its way out of her throat. Sarah finally managed to pull her hand free, and she stared at Rose's face, horror-stricken.

"Get the doctor," Faidn ordered, his eyes never leaving her terrible face.

Dannlin started to rise, to fetch the doctor who slept just next door, but then Faidn threw out an arm.

"Nevermind. I'll go. I need to find Swana, too."

He bolted out of the room, letting the stale air of the palace blow out of his head any errant thoughts of blonde princesses with cheerful smiles.

* * *

**Opinions on Karl? Faidn? Swana? Carvin? Is anyone completely lost in the chunk of politics?**

Faylinn**: Thank you for reviewing and brightening my day! I was worried that no one would review after so long, and then you did! You can have an extra 100 Grand for that. Ha, that wasn't supposed to be a noticeable pun, though it makes **_**me**_** laugh every time. Kudos to you for noticing it. --laugh-- I like being shocking, as long as it's a good shock. --nervous face-- It was ... a conversation, indeed. --chuckle-- I love Faidn, too. It's basically one of the most enjoyable things I've ever let myself do to have both Faidn and Karl in the same story. And Swana! Ah. --sigh of happiness-- Anyway. Updateupdateupdate!**

Captain Fantastic**: I hope there was enough Karl in this one for you! I had far too much fun writing his and Iriana's little "interaction." --devilish grin-- And, I hope that I've updated soon enough for your tastes. A week! ish?**

Mazkeraide**: --shudders-- I'm not sure how well this is going to work, Mazzie. I **_**hate**_** spiders. Spiderman is all well and good, because he's got the proper number of limbs. --considers-- So, I suppose, as long as these spider-people didn't grow extra appendages, I'd be alright. Ah, Lilliana is referred to as herself because that's who she introduced herself as – the character's name (Julia? I believe) changes in the book as Lilliana goes through it. This makes it fairly easy to see how far along in the book Lilliana is. See? Ahhhh! Spider-babies! --laugh--**

**Reviewers get a home-made caramel apple!**

**EDIT: Thank you, **Mazkeraide**, for pointing out my typo!**


	25. An Aside V

**30 . 10 . 09**

**Note the title.**

* * *

Deep in the wood, there sat a cottage. Smoke dribbled from the chimney, barely – evidence of a long-exhausted fire. The trees whispered around it, rubbing their branches together as if conspiring with each other, or gossiping. If one listened carefully enough, one could almost piece together words from the low shimmering sounds of leaves upon leaves. They seemed to be speaking of a commotion that had happened earlier that day. An altercation of men had taken place, with magic shining brilliantly inside the cottage for an hour or more before the light dimmed.

The door hung open on the cottage, and the window was cracked. It looked deserted and un-cared-for. A woman coming to the wizard's residence to beg for a cure for her son's disease paused before entering, taking in the disheveled sight. She might have gone home, but for the fact that her son was so ill. She entered the cottage, rapping on the door with her knuckles and calling for the wizard tentatively.

There was no answer. She took a few steps inside, gazing around at the rampant destruction. Furniture was knocked over, ornaments and dishes shattered, and portraits knocked off the walls and torn. It was evident that something had happened to the wizard who used to live there. The woman bit her lip and felt tears prick her eyes – not for the unfortunate wizard, but for her own son who lay dying at home. She turned to leave when something caught her eye.

A book lay on the kitchen table, looking exceedingly normal, yet somehow interesting. The forest green cover and small paintings together with the gold lettering lent it an air of importance, while the worn edges made it seem commonplace and loved. The woman picked up the book, taking it as a paltry replacement for the cure she had hoped to gain from the wizard. At least she could give him a new story to listen to, she thought, tucking the book under her arm and heading back to her home.

She read the book to her son, who hung on every word. She found herself enjoying the book, too – relishing the fantastic escape from the pain and drudgery of watching her only child waste away. When the book was finished, she traded it to a passing gypsy tribe in exchange for a bottle of tonic that promised to relieve the boy's pain in his last days. The boy died soon after, with strange shouts on his tongue.

The daughter of the tonic-maker read the book aloud to her friends to pass the long rides in the wagon. All the children loved the story, strangely devoted to it. The chief's young daughter borrowed it and read it for herself. One day, she vanished, and the book tumbled out of the back of the wagon, lying beside the Philettin road.

An army wagon stopped there the next day, and a lieutenant saw the green among the dusty clouds of the desert road. He picked up the book, remembering his family at home, and cleaned the dust off of it. He tucked it into his bag, imagining that he would give it to his son when he arrived back at home.

He was forced to trade it for food in Rijhad, however, when supplies ran low. The kindly young mother gave him more food for the book than it was worth and promised to keep it well. He was strangely loath to part with it, but eventually did, with a lingering glance behind him as his company left the town. The woman read the book to her two daughters, propping it on her growing stomach. She finished it just before her baby was born, and her helper read it to the girls again when she was asleep or tending to the newborn. They were captivated by the story, and were cranky and whiny if they couldn't hear it.

When the family took in a young soldier, the mother asked him to read the story to her girls, who were now demanding it for a third time. He read one chapter, then tried to convince the family to get rid of it. They refused, stating practically that it was the only thing that would silence all three girls at once. The eldest had taken to tracing the words with her finger and sounding them out. She barely stopped chattering about Julia, one of the heroines.

The soldier, when the time came for him to leave, secreted the book away and threw it into a field on his way out of the country. The farmer found it when it came time to plow, and he sold it across the border in Ellespeth, where books of any sort fetched a fair sum. Many people clamored for it, but the farmer eventually sold it to the one who offered the highest price – a servant to the king whose attention had been caught by the unassuming and dirty book.

He brought it to a book-restorer, offering him a high wage if he could make the book appear new once more. The man labored on the book, meticulously cleaning the pages, mending the binding, and touching up the embossed title with gold-leaf. He felt drawn to the book, and he didn't mind committing the hours of labor required to make the book respectable again. He felt a strange urge to keep it, however, and spent weeks idling his time with miniscule touch-ups, not wanting to call the king's servant and tell him it was ready.

The servant was impatient, however, and soon came knocking to ask after the book. Having no excuse to keep it any longer, for it was now unrecognizable as the dirty, down-trodden tome that had appeared at his door months previous, he reluctantly accepted his salary and gave the book to the delighted servant. The man placed it on the king's bookshelf with pride – and there it sat, brooding, for ten years before the agitation of the country began. Then, it toppled softly onto the table and waited.

* * *

**Make some connections, and let me know what you think. I'm eager for your thoughts.**

guess who**: (Sorry, I'm bad at guessing. Who was this? :-/) I'll take lovely. Lovely is good. --bright smile-- I love Faidn, too! He's such a dear.**

Mazkeraide**: He probably is. But, shh, that's a secret. I'm saving that for the climax. --wicked smile-- That was a marvelous bit of speculation. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Roddy! I know, I love him, too. As for another adventure... --looks around to be sure no one is listening and leans closer conspiratorially-- I **_**have**_** actually been thinking of another adventure for the old chap, but that's on the down-low, and it probably won't come to being for another year or so. I rather like the turmoil myself – I'm glad you think it works here. --smile-- Karl is never to be trusted. Ever. Heh, well, no one is perfect, and missing children + kingdom stress = not good for marriage. --glum look at the two of them who aren't looking at each other-- Ah! Thanks for pointing out the typo! ****It's all fixed, now, and you get a little shout-out!**

Captain Fantastic**: Same, same. They're extremely enjoyable to be around, though not at all trustworthy. Part of me wonders if it's that inherent sense of unpredictability that makes them so enjoyable. Hum... Well, that's alright, then. The general idea is really all you need. Main point of all the politics: Ladyra is in an uproar, to the point that countries all the way from end to end are meeting with each other about this war. Trule and Berensia don't want to join. Everyone else is picking sides. Each side is trying to snag countries from the other side, and both sides are trying terribly hard to convince Berensia and Trule to join in the conflict, because their armies are formidable. Swana, a respected authority in matters of international negotiation, wants them to all get along, though she knows they won't. Ta da, that's it. See? Not too terribly complicated. I'm glad you liked the loom bit – it seemed very much like her to weave things, I thought. Indefatigable is a good word. As is sanguine. I love interesting words. --smile--**

Pimpernel Princess**: Oh good! I'm always game to make a bad day better! See **Captain**'s reply for a boiled-down version of the politics, if they really did lose you. I think I got the main points in, so you should at least be able to get a basic gist of what's going on. --smile-- Karl and Faidn are both delightfully entertaining to write. Heh, Iriana punching Karl... --drifts off in thought, imagining this highly entertaining occurrence-- Poor Carvin, indeed. --pats the poor fellow on the shoulder-- I gave Cadmus your regards, and his chest didn't deflate to a normal size for days. Consequently, I think he's dedicating a word in the next chapter to you, so stay on hold for that.**

Faylinn**: See my reply to **Captain** for a condensed version of the politics. --smile-- I love Roddy, too. And I'm glad you liked that line; I was rather fond of it myself. --grin-- Yes! Bouncy dialogue was **_**exactly**_** what I was looking for, there. I'm so glad it happened! Yay! --hop-- Karl is pretty rad; I agree. Running away is always a good plan. --laugh-- Yay Swana! I'm glad you liked that part – it was probably one of my favorite parts to write in this story so far. You should have seen it **_**before**_** it was cut to pieces and redone. Heh heh. The next chapter has some more Rose in it – see the Sneak Peek (--alert! New Feature!--) below. --grin--**

_**Sneak Peek—**_

_Rose didn't open her eyes. She could feel clouds whispering on her cheeks and in her ears and through her hair. The cloud breathed beneath her back – a beast, warm and powerful and perilous. Its fur stroked her arms and legs fawningly, tiny blades of grass blowing in the wind and tickling her skin. The beast heaved a sigh and drifted along toward the sunrise of another day..._

**Reviewers get a chocolate covered caramel!**


	26. Shifting Clouds

**6 . 11 . 09**

**I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year. Scary scary. This may or may not have much of an effect on Jab's updates; I haven't decided yet. I'm writing Jab for WriMo, but anything I write has to be evaluated before I'd be willing to put it in a chapter, so updates will depend on time leftover after fulfilling my daily writing word-count.**

**WriMo is an adventure I've never embarked on before, so I'm not quite sure how this will go. I'd appreciate prayers and well-wishes, if you wouldn't mind sending them my way – along with reviews, of course. --grin-- Reviews will inspire me to write better the first time around, so updates will be more likely to come because less editing need be done. --winning smile--**

* * *

Rose didn't open her eyes. She could feel clouds whispering on her cheeks and in her ears and through her hair. The cloud breathed beneath her back – a beast, warm and powerful and perilous. Its fur stroked her arms and legs fawningly, tiny blades of grass blowing in the wind and tickling her skin. The beast heaved a sigh and drifted along toward the sunrise of another day.

She could sense that she would wake soon, another day closer to the summer and another day closer to her nightmare. She'd given up screaming for Hughes to let her go. She'd given up trying to fight back. There was nothing she could do but live her life like a marionette and hope that it wouldn't hurt so much the second time.

Images of Aerin, now vivid as those of her friends in Berensia – no, more so; she could hardly recall Sarah's face, now – appeared in her mind's eye, unbidden.

A hand touched her own and she started, jerking upright. The swirling sky and nonsensical clouds materialized before her eyes, but she didn't look at them. Aerin was lying by her side, looking up at the clouds above. Puffs of grey cloud drifted over his face and dissolved in the sun of his smile. His hand was touching hers. She pulled her hand away and took a shaking breath.

"Aerin, what are you doing here?" she said unsteadily.

"Look, Rose," he said, pointing up and smiling wider. "It looks like a dragon!"

Rose felt tears pricking at her eyes at his childish innocence in such a place, but she looked up. The cloud did look like a dragon. A tear slipped down her cheek, and the clouds darkened. Rain began to fall on them, and Aerin sat up with a cry.

"Rose! What's the matter?"

He reached for her face and dried it of tears and raindrops, his warm brown eyes pooling with tears of his own. His hands were warm and dry, and Rose closed her eyes. She could hear the dragon roar above them.

"We'll beat the dragon, Diamond," he reassured her, his voice confident.

"Aerin," she whispered, opening her eyes again and looking at his strong little-boy figure. He radiated with a magnetic hope, which is what drew her to him in the first place.

"What?" he said, looking at her with concern, his blade in hand.

"You need the rest of your armor," she said, starting to smile.

"So do you!" he laughed.

His bubbling laughter was contagious; she laughed, too. When she looked at him again, he was standing and in full armor – and he was as tall as a man. He pulled up his visor and she caught a glimpse of his full-grown face; the same brown eyes warmed her from the inside out.

And then, the cloud gave way beneath her and she was falling through the air.

"Aerin!" she shrieked.

But he was a little boy again, and his arm over the edge of the cloud didn't reach her. He couldn't save her; it was impossible. What could he do?

"I'm coming, Rose!" he cried, and the little boy left the safety of the cloud to chase after a leaf in the wind.

Then the sun rose.

* * *

"Any luck on getting out of here?" Derwin asked Lilliana, as was his habit when they were alone.

Lilliana was washing her hair in the pond, and Derwin was rinsing their traveling dishes while Francis and Deborah cleaned up the camp. As was her habit, Lilliana replied with some ridiculous suggestion in an attempt to end the conversation.

"Have you tried killing yourself?" she asked, wringing out her hair in the pond. "Then you could leave, and I could stay."

"Now you're just trying to get rid of me," Derwin said.

Lilliana shrugged, apparently forgetting that she was half upside-down. The jiggle made her fall into the water, surprised yelp cut off by a spluttering cough. Derwin couldn't help himself – she looked just like someone he used to know. He started laughing, and soon he found that he couldn't stop. Lilliana started shouting crossly at him, but she gave up after a minute and just dragged him in, too. In retaliation, he splashed her, and that turned into a battle, the two of them screaming and laughing and forgetting about their mission entirely.

Lilliana finally called a truce, and they both started to trudge out of the water. It hit Derwin that _that_ had never happened before, but there was no seasickness.

The book was changing, more drastically than before.

According to the book, he knew what happened next, but this last episode put his heart in his mouth. What if she reacted differently?

"Lilli, do you trust me?" he asked quickly.

"No," she replied, smile fading.

"Then pretend, please!" he said, panicking – she was supposed to have replied with a yes.

"What are you talking about?"

There was a rustle in the bushes.

"Duck!" he shouted.

"What?"

Derwin leapt forward and tackled her, taking the arrow in the shoulder.

"Blood and hellfire," he growled loudly, making Lilli's eyes go wide.

He looked at his shoulder. Blood was staining his shirt, and waves of pain coursed through his arm and his chest. There was a lot of blood. He said a much more unpleasant word, which had Lilli in such a state of shock that she didn't complain about her rib, which his weight had injured. She fixed it in a moment, anyway, but she usually took every opportunity to complain to him.

Derwin rolled onto his feet, muttering another choice word through gritted teeth and drew his sword left-handed. This was not what should have happened. She should have ducked. He shouldn't be fighting left-handed. A centaur and two men came out of the wood at a run, shouting at him.

"Go get help," he said to Lilliana, breathing heavily.

"But, your shoulder—"

"There won't be anything of me _left_ if you don't go get help, _now_," he snapped.

She dashed away, and Derwin grimaced in pain. The book was suddenly a much more frightening place, because now, it was unpredictable.

Now, it was like the real world.

He blocked the centaur's strike, but his left arm shuddered under the impact. His attacks were weak, and his blocks didn't save him from a volley of long scrapes on his arms when he was too slow. His heart thudded in panic as he fought against the three for his life. He was barely holding his own when Deborah, Lilli, and Francis arrived. They quickly killed one of the men, and the other two attackers turned and ran.

Deborah and Francis searched the dead man's body for anything useful, then dragged it into the woods while Lilli tended to Derwin's shoulder. He wouldn't look her in the eye, even after the arrow was gone and the wound healed.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I should have listened to you."

"Yes, you should have," Derwin gritted. "I think that I've earned at least some modicum of respect, if not trust, from you by now."

"Well, you should trust me, too!" she replied, eyebrows knitting together.

"I do," he said immediately.

"Not enough to tell me why you want me out of the books so badly! You're hiding something from me."

Derwin took a breath, like he was going to say something, then let half of it out in a huff of frustration.

"Just trust me."

"I _can't_ trust you, Derwin."

"No, you just won't," he corrected.

"If you won't tell me, you're just as bad as all the adults back at home!"

"And they deserve your trust, too," he said calmly.

"You don't know that," she quipped angrily.

"Trust isn't rational, Lilli. It's a risk you take, because you believe the other person has your best interests at heart."

"I'm sick and tired of people having my best interests at heart!" she cried. "You don't even _know_ me! Why do you care?"

"Because I knew a little girl like you, who was so lively and beautiful, and no one stood up for her," he said, and his voice was quiet, but not weak. "No one had _her_ best interests at heart. You're lucky, _princess._"

Lilliana didn't reply – the rebuke was evident in his tone. He stood up and walked back to camp. Lilliana didn't return to camp until much later, and she was silent when she did.

* * *

"Iriana, it's time for dinner," Nre said, putting a hand on Iriana's arm.

Iriana had been sitting by Rose, as she'd promised Faidn she would earlier that afternoon, but she'd dozed off at some point. She could hardly sleep anymore – her dreams were filled with black spiderwebs and a voice that said things she didn't understand. And, always, the book was there. She shook her head to clear it and opened her eyes. The tangled black knots slipped away, and the oddly comforting sight of her and Rose's intertwined hands took its place.

"Um, thank you. I'll be right there. I, uh, need to change," she stammered.

It was taking a bit of effort to make her brain function properly. Nre frowned and sat next to Iriana, putting a hand on the younger woman's forehead.

"You don't look well, Iriana," Nre said with concern, looking into her friend's eyes. "You're very pale and your forehead is clammy."

"Bad dreams," Iriana explained with what should have been a reassuring smile, but was more like a concerning grimace.

"Maybe you should go lie down," Nre said, taking in her glossy eyes and disoriented look. "I'll have someone send soup to your room."

"Oh, no, really – I'm fine," Iriana said, shaking her head again. "I've just been having trouble sleeping lately."

"_Don't leave,"_ the voice said, blending into her thoughts so smoothly that she barely noticed.

"I insist, Iriana," Nre said. "Do you need some help to your room?"

"No," Iriana said, waving her hand and giving a much better version of a smile. "If I do, I'll call a servant. Go to dinner, before you're late."

Nre hesitated, then left. Iriana had to admit that she didn't feel well at all. Her head was fuzzy, so she decided to give it a minute before she tried to stand. She focused on Rose, cradling the woman's limp, cool hand in her own. Rose looked upset now, as she usually did. Iriana squeezed her hand, but she had no words. It seemed wrong to speak when Rose didn't know her at all.

She closed her eyes for a moment, suddenly tired. When she opened them again, the black threads of her dreams were covering Rose, crawling over her hands, inching over her torso, and squirming under her sleeping eyelids – flowing into her nose and mouth when she breathed. Iriana yanked her hand away from Rose's, but the threads were already twining up her arm too fast to brush off even if she could. Her head swimming in panic, she snapped her eyes closed, remembering the day with the windowsill.

_She's just sick,_ Iriana told herself. _There's nothing there._

She opened her eyes again, and they were gone. She stood, now determined to leave whether she was ready or not. Her vision blurred, and she had to grab the chair for balance.

"Maybe I do need help," she muttered, putting a steadying hand on the table at the foot of Rose's bed.

Her fingers bumped against the book. It reminded her of reading books when she was sick as a child. The crazy thought of reading _this_ book swept through her mind – an icy wave of excitement. All of a sudden, it didn't matter that Swana had said she must stay away from the the book. She picked it up, not even noticing that her strange light-headedness seemed to have disappeared.

Running her fingers along the cover, she wondered what was inside – where Lilliana was in the story. The voice softly urged her to find out, nearly covering the guilty little reminder that she shouldn't.

_Why shouldn't I?_ she thought. _I can't even think of a good reason. My safety is in my own hands, and I think I'm smart enough not to get sucked in._ With that thought, she opened the book.

Before she could read a single word, however, a servant appeared in the doorway.

"Princess Nre requested that I escort you to your chamber," he said with a bow.

Iriana closed the book quickly, feeling like she was a child again, caught in some mischief.

"Thank you," Iriana said, putting the book down and taking the man's arm. She looked over her shoulder as she left; the book lay on the table, looking serene.

* * *

As soon as Carvin walked through the door, Nre stood up from the chair she'd been sitting in, dropping the book unceremoniously onto it. The childish cover drawing of a frog with a crown looked glumly up at the ceiling.

Carvin looked startled; he'd been expecting to return to his chamber to find his wife asleep, as usual.

"Wh—" he started, but Nre didn't give him a chance to finish his inquiry.

"I have to apologize for what I said the other night," she said firmly, looking into his eyes.

Her hands were clenched; she hated apologizing. Carvin felt his heart soften, but knew that a smile would only make his wife annoyed, so he kept his face attentive.

"About arranged marriages," she clarified, although Carvin knew immediately what she must be apologizing for. "I was upset, and I wasn't thinking. I lost my temper. It was late, and I—" She shook her head. "I don't want to make excuses. There was no excuse for what I said. I'm sorry, Carvin. You're the best father and husband in all of Berensia. I couldn't have asked for anyone better. Would you forgive me?"

Carvin smiled then, forgetting how horribly the meeting had gone that night. He wrapped his wife into a close hug.

"Of course I forgive you," he said.

She sighed and hugged him back, closing her eyes in the fleeting peace of the moment.

* * *

**A comparatively short chapter, but the next one will be interesting, I think. Thoughts? On Lilliana? Rose? Relationships? Anything?**

Faylinn**: I have a deep love of minor characters, too. It tends to get me into trouble, because then I wish to expound more on the minor characters than the major ones, and then my readers grouch at me for complicating the storyline beyond recognition... --is recalling **_**I Do**_** with a sigh-- But, anyway. Wonder as much as you like. This is what the Asides are really for, after all. They are an Aside from the general storyline, but they will shed illumination on it in time. At least, if all works together as planned. --tries to smile confidently, glancing at the twelve different chalkboards Caddy has set up which completely block him from view; a cloud of chalk dust is flying up from his general direction--**

Pimpernel Princess**: Gorgeous and lush? Well, thank you. I blame **_Owl City_**'s very relaxing, spacey music for any sort of interesting metaphorical language in that part. Faidn/Iriana is coming, and very soon. Have no fear. --grin-- He finds it obvious that you should be flattered, but that's because he's an insufferable egotist. --feels a frosty glare from the dragon's direction and pointedly ignores it-- Though a decent artist, anyway. At **_**any**_** rate, he's dedicated the word "perilous" to you. It's in the third sentence, if you wish to know.**

Captain Fantastic**: Intrigued. Excellent. That's where I like to have my readers. --smile-- Yikes! That's a bit of a trek. Have some fat free cherry yogurt, then. The peanut butter and honey I'm offering this time aroudn are both organic, and the bread is whole wheat, if that means anything to anyone. I'm unfamiliar with race-running and its accompanying diet. --apologetic smile--**

Mazkeraide**: It was ... not really very forthcoming. Sorry. What with WriMo starting and all, I haven't had a chance to sit down and sort out this chapter until now. I'm glad the Aside interested you, anyway – short as it was. --smile--**

**Reviewers get a peanut butter and honey sandwich!**


	27. Senselessness!

**10 . 11 . 09**

**Cadmus is doing brilliantly with WriMo so far, so I managed to compile another chapter from the little sketches Caddy threw at me. --grin--**

**Disclaimer: Karl is mine. But still out for rent. Please, take him away.**

* * *

Iriana could hear Faidn breathing across the room, where he was fixed by the side of Rose's bed unless he was called away for a council. She'd become more drawn, more pale, in the last few days, and Faidn was loathe to leave her for any reason – as if his mere presence could prevent her from slipping away without warning.

"I thought you said Rose wasn't in danger," he said to Karl.

"I said nothing of the sort," Karl said without looking up from the book. "Swana said that Lilliana was in _more_ danger."

"Why is she getting paler?"

Karl put the book down and sighed at Faidn.

"I'd imagine she didn't have a very nice childhood," he said levelly.

"No," Faidn said stiffly. "And?"

"Well then, the magic is strangling her with her own hopelessness," Karl said, picking the book back up again and looking away from Faidn. "It's a common thing with memory-spells. They're often meant to make the person relive bad memories until they lose the will to live."

"Can't we _do_ something?" Faidn said with frustration, putting a hand on her arm and trying to draw some color to her worrying pallor.

"Your sitting there isn't going to help," Karl drawled calmly.

"Unless you've got any other suggestions..." Faidn said, his voice militant.

"There's nothing we can do for Rose, except for break the spell entirely," Karl said, throwing the book at his feet in the first show of impatience Iriana had actually witnessed from him. Seeing the book hit the floor made her stomach lurch. "There are other things you _can_ help with, however, such as helping your friend in his war councils instead of slipping out early to cling to Rose like a lovesick puppy."

Iriana winced at the barbs evident in the statement. Both of the men's temper's were charged, which made the bickering more perilous than usual.

"Rose is like my sister," Faidn spat, "and Carvin can handle his own political hogwash."

Swana entered then, diffusing the tense moment. Karl looked back to his book, and Faidn looked back to Rose. Iriana looked at the book, too, but looked quickly away when she felt the sorceress's eyes on her.

"Onyx," Swana said, putting her fingertips on Faidn's shoulder.

He turned his head to look at her, but she was already walking away. He set Rose's hand carefully on the bed and followed her out of the room; Iriana watched them go, then found her eyes resting on the book once more. She jerked them free and stood, taking Faidn's place at Rose's side.

* * *

Swana was silent until they reached the gardens, painted with moonlight and shadow.

"You don't have to save everyone," she said, looking down at the flowers beneath her feet.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he questioned guardedly, wondering if she spoke of Rose or Iriana.

"It's not your job," she said quietly, undercutting his defensiveness with one swoop of her words, "to be a savior."

"But isn't that what _you_ do?" he asked, guessing she spoke of Iriana.

"I do right," she said, then sighed. "I _try_ to do right. Sometimes, that means I am a savior. Sometimes, not. You need to do right, Onyx."

"Does that mean I should or shouldn't marry Iriana?" he asked.

"It means," she said, brushing her fingers on the leaves of a flowering shrub, "that you should think about things as they are, not as how they should be."

"The women are senseless—"

"Just because something is wrong doesn't mean it's not real and shouldn't be considered. The world doesn't make sense. You have to do right by it."

"At first, it sounded like you didn't want me to marry her," Faidn said with some frustration, "and now it sounds like you do."

"I want you," Swana said, looking at him, her eyes silver in the moonlight, "to think about it and decide what's right. You haven't thought about it yet."

"How do you know?" Faidn challenged.

"I know you better than that," she said with a brief hint of a smile. "I think I know what you would choose."

"Tell me, then, and save me the trouble," Faidn said sorely, frowning and looking at the woods.

"It's your decision, Onyx," Swana said. "Maybe I'm wrong."

"Your decision would be the wiser one," Faidn muttered, but he knew Swana would hear him.

"Not really," she said, turning back to the flowers. "Not if you think about it."

Neither of them spoke again for a long time; they paced the garden in silence and watched the moongleam bounce from the irises.

* * *

Councils continued on, the debate never ceasing. Neither side would give in. Neither side would retract their declaration of war, and Grendath was on the verge of joining with the Philettins. Carvin and Alphonse were barely maintaining Berensia's alliance with Trule and her neutrality in the war in general. It was becoming quite a task to keep the peace at the table, and Alphonse had declared that there would be only one more week of council before he would send all the delegates back to their own countries to do what they willed.

"As for Berensia and Trule, we are firm," Alphonse had declared, his voice strong and sure.

It was after this declaration that Swana pulled Carvin aside.

"Side with Rijhad and Terriot," Swana said, in a low enough voice not to be overheard by the delegates. Faidn's ears, however, attuned to her voice, barely caught the ebb of her comment.

"I thought you said the war was illogical," Carvin said, his voice slightly clipped.

"Illogical things must be reckoned with," Swana replied. "Join Rijhad, and the war will cease. Grendath will join with you, and so will Trule. Philettin will be forced to relinquish its claims."

"This is too much of a gamble, Swana," Carvin said, shaking his head. "If the war isn't abandoned, Berensians will die for a cause I can't tell them to believe in. Rijhad might be at fault, here. While their mistakes might not be worth a war, I wouldn't send my men to fight on their side, either."

"I know."

"And this isn't my decision to make; Alphonse is the king."

"I told him."

"And he said no," Carvin stated. There was no other reason that Swana would talk to him instead.

"You need to join with Rijhad," she repeated, her eyes serious. "This war will tear Ladyra to pieces. You may remain neutral, but you will not be unaffected. Side with Rijhad, and the war will never happen."

"Alright, gentlemen – if you'd resume your seats..." Alphonse said, sitting down at the head of the table and calling things to order. Swana walked across the room to her seat. Carvin and Faidn locked eyes, and Faidn nodded. Carvin looked away.

* * *

Faidn stopped suddenly in the hallway, his feet halting mid-step, and he realized that he had no idea where he was. He had left the council meeting thinking of Berensia's position in the war and Swana's conversation with Carvin, and he hadn't paid attention to where his feet were leading him. After a moment's assessment, he realized he was almost to the sickroom, through no fault of his own.

He continued along the passage and took the last turn, then paused again. Iriana was sitting on the floor in the hallway. The first thing he noticed was her lack of formal dress – what allowed her to be sitting on the floor in the first place. Instead of her habitual tiered and gathered dress (informal when compared to her ball gown, but clumsy nonetheless) she was wearing one that reminded him of Rose's or Sarah's, though made with finer material, to differentiate her from the servants and commoners.

She was focused on a piece of paper held tightly in her left hand, her tired eyes static on the writing there. In her right hand, a quill was loosely grasped, ink dried on the nib. A bottle of ink, a book, and sheet of paper lay on the ground beside her. Faidn realized he was staring at her a bare moment before she noticed, which gave him an instant to look away – to her paper.

"Enthralling?" he asked.

She held the paper out to him without reply or expression, and Faidn hesitated a moment, not expecting the abrupt response. He stooped a little, then took the paper from her hands and began to read.

_Ana,_

_You have yet to reply to any of my letters, though I know you have received them. I asked the messengers to be sure to give them to you personally, and they assure me that they have. I shouldn't waste yet another piece of paper on your deaf ears, but such is the trial of being your mother—_

_Please write me straightaway and tell me _what_ is this story about your being engaged. It's doubtless true, as I've yet to hear one account against it in all the time that has passed. This was obviously a very hasty decision, and one so unlike you! I suppose there isn't much you can do about it now without causing a scandal. Still, I would like to know the story behind this mad encounter, so I can explain to other delegates what exactly the Crown Princess is doing with her future._

_And speaking of your future, do you know I can find hardly a word on this Berensian general – the mysterious General Faidn O'Neil? I know he is a friend of Prince Carvin's from childhood, and that he generally avoids social gatherings. That he managed to attend this ball and somehow finagle his way into engagement with you is astonishing, and it worries me. What manner of man is he? If he in any way threatened you, he can be brought to justice here in Grendath, publicly, and the world will clamor for his arrest, which will free you of your engagement. Remember that, dear._

_However, if he is a decent man and you have merely lost your head in fantasy, you also must remember that you are the _Crown Princess _of_ Grendath._ He will have to relieve himself of his title and become the Prince Regent. You cannot let him desert you now, foolish girl, though he may be realizing the consequences of his rash proposal and wishing to disappear quietly. You must keep an eye on him to be sure he doesn't flee the country and leave you in disgrace._

_Oh, Ana. How _could_ you be so foolish?_

The letter went on a bit longer, but Faidn had read enough.

"Ah," he said, sighing and joining her on the floor.

"Ah," she echoed, nodding and taking the letter back.

She picked up the piece of paper and book from the floor and stationed them on her knees, then dipped the quill in ink again.

"I really have no concept of what to say," she murmured, almost to herself as the quill hovered above the paper. "I could explain the entire situation, but it still comes down to the fact that I acted rashly and impulsively, letting my head get swept away with excitement instead of thinking about the future."

Faidn looked at her. She looked at the paper.

"Carvin thinks I shouldn't have allowed you to come with me, that night at the ball," Faidn said after a momentary pause.

"Nonsense," Iriana retorted immediately, shaking her head away from the unwritten letter and looking at Faidn. "It was my decision. And besides, if you'd gone off alone, the Trules would have thought you were at a war council for sure, and then they would have definitely broken the treaty, and the trade would surely cease, and war would start—No. I'd rather be in a position of minor social disgrace if necessary than have Berensia in at least economic turmoil and political unrest, if not outright war."

Iriana took a deep breath after that statement, then looked back to the piece of paper.

"I thought you said you acted rashly," Faidn said with a wryly humorous chuckle. "That all sounds very pre-meditated."

Iriana laughed brightly.

"I thought of the justification after the fact. It was a very rash decision at the time – merely one that unintentionally worked out for what _I_ see as better, though I'm not so certain that my parents will agree. After all, they aren't against joining the war, and they think Alphonse should, too."

"Swana would have Berensia join with Rijhad, though," Faidn said. "On the opposite side of Grendath."

"Father suspected as much, which is all the more reason for my parents to encourage me to come home," she sighed, pointing to the last paragraph of the letter, which was from her father and included that critical piece of information.

"Why don't you go home, then?" Faidn asked, ignoring the fact that something sank inside of him when he suggested it. "Angering your parents further probably isn't wise."

"No," she agreed, "but I don't know what to say to them."

They were both silent, the unspoken topic looking heavily in the silence. Servants could be heard bustling through the halls and joking with each other – a happy humming hubbub.

Iriana started to write a greeting on the top of the page, her quill scratching against the paper.

"Iriana," Faidn finally said.

"Hm?" she replied, adding a comma to the greeting and then frowning as she tried to think of the best word with which to start her explanation.

"I don't have to marry you. You can still break this off."

Iriana put the quill down, but didn't say anything.

"But," he continued, pushing forward before he changed his mind. "I know that I'm in a better place for a broken engagement than you are, so my decision is—" he broke off, giving up on trying to explain it. "If you wish—I'll marry you."

He looked away, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"That would be selfish of me," she stammered after a breath of silence, not quite believing that he had just said that.

"No," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Your country needs you to be someone they can trust. If you break the engagement, you'll lose face with the people. Of course, you're free to make your own decision. But, that's my decision."

Faidn was looking down the corridor, away from Iriana. His profile seemed oddly at-ease. Everything he'd just said was so completely different from anything he'd said before; he'd always talked about how the upper society was senseless, and now he was catering to it. Iriana couldn't understand the turnaround.

"Why the sudden change, General?" she questioned. "I thought image isn't important and nobles are illogical?"

"Just because something's illogical doesn't mean it doesn't matter," he said, an edge of annoyance to his voice that Iriana correctly deduced as being aimed at the situation and not herself.

"Have you been talking to Swana?" she asked.

Faidn grinned, and then he looked over at her for the first time since he'd brought up the topic of marriage. His eyes were very green, she realized, especially when he was smiling. They were dark green, like leaves which have absorbed a summer's worth of sunlight.

"Was it that obvious?" he asked.

Iriana raised her eyebrows and smiled.

"I thought so," Faidn said with a bit of a grimace. He paused, then added with cautious lightheartedness: "So, are you going to marry me?"

"You won't be able to be General anymore," she said, smile slipping.

"It wasn't my life goal to be a general," Faidn said with some attempt at humor, smiling tightly.

"It wasn't your life goal to be a prince regent, either," she pointed out obviously. She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Faidn took a deep breath, glancing away. Then he looked back at her, and Iriana felt the intensity of his decision sweep across the distance between them.

"I'm sure."

"Then..." she said, trailing off as she suddenly imagined what life would be like if she said yes.

She hadn't given much thought to the possibility that she might marry Faidn; she'd never considered that he'd offer to go through with it. Scores of images flashed in front of her mind: she and Faidn on the trellis at the ball, at their wedding, in the throne room, with her parents, in council meetings, on a ride through the wood, in the hallway chasing a little blonde-haired child—

_Can I spend the rest of my life with him?_

His eyes were resting on her face, waiting for her decision.

_Am I brave enough to face the nobles if I say no?_

Green eyes. She suddenly though that she might be asking the wrong question.

_Am I brave enough to say yes?_

Iriana didn't consider herself a very brave person, and now she was faced with a decision that took some amount of courage to make, and a lot more courage to carry out – no matter which choice she made. When confronted with this situation, Iriana realized something important: she had the choice to save someone else, this time.

She was about to say no, when another thought came to her – Faidn wanted her to say yes. He wanted to marry her. The look in his eyes, the way he phrased his proposal a moment ago; he wanted to marry her, but he didn't want to admit it.

_I think. But what if I'm wrong?_

Her mouth was moving before she could think through another train of logic.

"Yes," she said. "I'll marry you."

She couldn't read the expression on his face, but he nodded. She wondered if she'd said the right thing.

* * *

Horses pounded across the plain, their hooves smashing the grass and flowers and twigs. They were powerful and mighty and unstoppable. Birds soared high above them, eagles and sparrows and robins. The sun caught on their dewy backs and glinted, jewel-like, back to the skies. The birds were illuminated with reflective light, and they chirped with delight.

The horses were cascading jewels, galloping diamonds, sinewy mirrors. Rose could see herself in them, pale and small – a child next to their brilliance. One pranced to a stop in front of her, snorting and blowing.

Rose shrank back, though she knew it was a dream of a dream and she would not be harmed. The scintillating horse lowered its head and looked at her with one enormous eye – a human eye – a green eye – Faidn's eye. With a trembling hand, she reached out to touch its cool, silver nose. The instant her finger touched the metallic flesh, the horse disappeared, and Faidn stood there. Before she had a chance to say anything, another horse walked past Faidn, blocking the man from view. A crystal blue eye peered into her own – Nre's eye. Rose touched the horse with less fear, and Nre took the place of the mystical creature.

Another horse advanced, and it turned into Dannlin. He joined Nre and Faidn in silence. One by one, the glimmering, unattainable horses turned into those she loved. Just when she thought she might smile again, a cloud swept over the sun, and everything was gone. Only one horse remained, and he was dingy and matted, his head hanging so low it almost brushed the ground. His brown fur was caked with mud, his hooves needed a trim, and his mane was knotted. Dejection was evident in every aspect of the sordid animal.

"Orion," Rose called softly.

He was her family's horse, and she loved it dearly. The horse didn't move.

"Orion," she called again, walking toward the horse herself.

The horse still didn't move, even as she approached him. When she drew closer, she reached out a hand to touch him, but he danced away, swinging his head to face her. His face was not the sweet, tired face of an old horse, but a snarling, hissing one of an injured wolf. She screamed and stumbled back, but couldn't tear her eyes from the ghastly sight.

"Why did you leave the gate?" it screamed angrily, advancing on her with legs of a horse and teeth of a wolf.

"I'm sorry!" she shrieked, throwing her hands up to cover her face.

Then, the sun rose.

And Rose knew exactly what day it was as she pulled on her holey stockings and shivered in the cold morning air. Her heartbeat was a dirge, and every step echoed hollow in her mind. She could not make it stop—she could not look away—she could not—

So she decided not to try. She decided to remember.

* * *

**So?**

Captain Fantastic**: That sounds like an excellent use of your time and danish. --laugh-- Your odd guess seems to be the prevailing views of most reviewers; take that as you will. --grin-- Lilliana isn't all bad. Nor is she the most exemplary example. And I feel I just used a word to define itself... hum. But, anyway – Derwin is a bit of an idiot sometimes, yes. But I love him. --happy smile--**

Pimpernel Princess**: How do you get on my muse's good side, and I do not? This is an astronomical injustice. --laugh-- Carvin and Nre must always be okay! They're the model match from the last book! --wide-eyes, then laugh-- But, unfortunately, they're real people, too, and don't always get along. It's nice to have them back together. That speculation! You and Captain both...! --shakes head-- Face-offs are delightful. I'm not sure how epic of a face-off I can conjure, but there will be confrontations, rest assured. --wicked grin--**

Lillian Marie Evans Potter**: You and me both, Lillian! That's why I'm writing it for WriMo – so I don't forget all the little stories I need to tell, expand, and wrap up. Yipes! --sweatdrop-- Welcome, by the by, and thanks for reviewing! **

Mazkeraide**: Just in case you were unaware, your reviews make it into the Top 5 Most Awesome Things That Happen In A Week, every week. I had to make a conscious effort not to burst into tickled laughter as I read it this week – an effort I don't normally bother with, except I was sitting next to someone who might possibly have that I was a nut job. Bother normal people! --laugh-- Derwin is very curious, indeed. For clarification, however, I believe he's mentioned that he's been through the book multiple times in a previous chapter. And, the book constantly repeats itself, whether or not someone is reading. The adventure lasts a few months or so, and then it just starts over. How painfully dull for poor Derwin. I'm sure he can quote the entire book. Which is awful, since the book isn't even very good. --pats Derwin on the shoulder sympathetically-- I hope this has distracted you adequately!**

**Reviewers get a bowl of ice cream. Two flavors, two toppings. What would you like?**


	28. Iced Tea

**19 . 11 . 09**

**So it seems that WriMo is helping me to churn out some **_**quality**_** work, at least for now.**

* * *

Nre invited Iriana to tea, lamenting that she rarely got to see her friend, and since Iriana had arrived they'd barely spent any time together. Iriana accepted straightaway – she'd been worried about Nre from the beginning of the ordeal, which is what prompted her to take over some of Ceilear and Mittlan's care. Even the lessened burden of dealing with two whiny children, however, didn't seem to detract from Nre's worry.

"Nre," Iriana said, calling her friend's attention back to the piece of tart that the woman held very neatly in a position halfway between her mouth and the table, with no apparent desire to move it in either direction.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Nre said, moving the tart closer to her mouth, then changing the direction and putting it on her plate instead.

"How are things with you and Carvin?" Iriana asked shrewdly, noting the distraction in her friend's eyes and the dark circles beneath them.

"They're—well, as good as they can be," Nre said with a pause. "He's just so tired, and busy. You know." She prodded her tart without thinking about it, ramming it into a small sandwich.

Iriana nodded, but didn't say anything. After a moment, Nre began to speak again.

"I just miss him, that's all," Nre said slowly. "I always feel like he's off somewhere far away whenever these political issues come to head from time to time. And now, with Lilliana missing, too..."

A pained expression flitted across her face for a moment. Iriana put her hand on top of Nre's.

"But," Nre soldiered on, "that's not his fault. And I don't blame him at all. I just—well, like I said; I just miss him. If Lilliana returns safe and the country isn't in turmoil, everything will be fine. Carvin will be sure of that. I'm mostly worried about Lilliana and Rose. Time is stretching on, and they haven't found anything new."

Nre closed her eyes.

"I just want all of this to be over, Iriana."

Iriana nodded, and the two ladies sat there for a quarter of an hour in silence, letting each other's presence be a balm for their anxiety until, when the servants came to clear the table, they were both smiling. They didn't smile because anything was better, but merely because it was a comfort to know that they weren't alone.

"Shall we go see if Karl's discovered anything new?" Iriana asked as they left the room.

"Discovered anything other than a particularly pretty female servant, you mean?" Nre said, half in jest, though her eyes betrayed her mistrust of the man.

"Yes, other than that," Iriana said lightheartedly, knowing Nre's dislike and passing over it deftly.

"You know, I think he really might fancy you," Nre commented.

"Mm," Iriana hummed abstractly, glancing at an oil painting of King Thomas on the wall. His blue eyes gleamed black for a moment, and the woman looked hurriedly away.

"I hope you're not taking his advances too seriously," Nre said carefully, unsatisfied by Iriana's neutral reply.

"Not _too_ seriously," Iriana said heavily, but she grinned at Nre. "I'd be a poor fiancee if I did."

"Oh, I'd almost forgotten about _that_ particular situation," Nre said with a grimace. "When are you going to break that off?"

"I'm not," Iriana said, with a touch of defensiveness. She thought Nre's complete disregard of Faidn as a reliable candidate for anything overstepped the bounds of realism just a little.

"You're going to marry him?" Nre asked, looking over at Iriana in surprise.

The younger woman looked back, her darker blue eyes meeting Nre's icy ones.

"Yes, I am."

"Why?" Nre asked.

Iriana took a breath to reply, then realized she didn't know, exactly. Nre saw the confusion on her face and stopped walking in the corridor, drawing Iriana up short with her.

"You don't have to," she said quietly.

"I know I don't," Iriana replied, organizing her thoughts. "But the entire affair is so complicated. The people already barely believe I can be a competent ruler, and having another tick against my name is just one step closer to revolt and revolution. Now, maybe I'm blowing things just a bit out of proportion," she allowed, as Nre raised her eyebrows, "but surely you see where I'm coming from?" She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and looked away from Nre's piercing stare as her confidence waned slightly. "I – I said yes, Nre. I'm not sure exactly why, but I said it. And, what's more, I don't regret it."

Iriana started walking again, and Nre followed, but silently. Iriana reached the door and opened it, looking at the sickroom as a whole. Only Faidn and Karl were in the room; everyone else was gone for the moment, engaged in other tasks. Faidn was beside Rose's bed, and Karl was pacing.

Karl usually paced the sickroom, holding the book. His stride held a swagger, despite the intensity of the concentration he was devoting to the book. His fingers flipped the pages with dexterity, following lines of text, then closing the book. His face was furrowed in thought, though still handsome as always. After a few moments, he would open the book again, flip a few pages, follow a few lines, and then close it again. He was constantly muttering to himself, though everyone in the sickroom had grown so accustomed to it that they hardly paid the unintelligible stream of words any mind.

Iriana noticed that this time, however, he was not muttering at all, nor was he closing the book.

"What did you find, Karl?" she asked, walking up to him.

She could hear Nre following behind, and she felt Faidn's eyes on her back.

"The words are changing more than just Lilliana's name, now," Karl said, halting his stride next to Iriana and thrusting the book in front of her. "See?"

Iriana watched, barely believing her eyes as the ink flattened into lines and rearranged itself on the page, writing new sentences and moving old ones about. The adventure was no longer set in stone. She thought she saw a tendril of ink leap off the page and onto her arm, but a quick glance revealed nothing there. Iriana shook her head, and Karl pulled the book back.

"So, what does that mean?" Faidn asked impatiently.

Iriana jumped; she hadn't heard him arrive. He was standing directly behind her, so close that his deep voice gave her a shiver.

"I don't know yet," Karl allowed.

"How long has it been doing this?" Nre questioned, watching the ink with fascination.

Iriana stared, too, entranced with the patterns.

"For a few hours, now," Karl said, flipping back a few pages and pointing. "They were washing dishes, and Lilliana was washing her hair, and then the words went crazy. Instead of an easy fight against a few cronies, Derwin was injured and barely fought them off."

Looking at the now stationary words, Iriana recollected herself and looked away, flexing her fingers nervously. She felt tension, as if tiny threads encased her fists, but a glance proved nothing there as well.

"Are you alright?" Faidn asked, noticing her jerky movements.

Iriana nodded and managed a smile, but Faidn didn't look convinced. Karl's continuing explanation, however, drew his attention back to the book.

"It seems that the story is more or less going according to plan, but things are changing along the way. I suspect Derwin is trying to keep it moving along the same mode as much as he can, especially after his near-death experience back at the pond."

"Swana needs to know this," Faidn said, stepping toward the door.

"I already told her," Karl said with irritation at Faidn's sleight of his thinking, fixing the man with an unpleasant look. "After this meeting adjourns, she's going to come take a look at the book for herself."

"Is Lilliana alright?" Nre asked, drawing the conversation back around to what she considered to be the most important point.

"She's not injured at all, if that's what you mean," Karl said. "Assuming we can get her out, she'll be no worse for the wear."

"We _will_ get her out," Faidn corrected, seeing the expression on Nre's face.

"You can't know that," Karl said, glancing at Nre, then glaring at Faidn. "Don't lie to her to get on her good side."

"Don't be so negative," Faidn retorted. "We have Swana—"

"_Swana_ is not infallible," Karl said pointedly. "I've known her a lot longer than you have, and she doesn't fix everything. Sometimes she messes things up, too."

Iriana felt very small all of a sudden, as she sensed that Faidn and Nre did, too – they'd been banking their hopes on Swana with a sort of childish perspective of the woman as an all-knowing, never-failing savior. Now reminded of her humanity, the situation suddenly looked much more bleak.

"Can you talk to them?" Nre asked doggedly. "Maybe they have some ideas."

"I've tried to enter to the book again, but Hughes has woven the spell tighter, so I can't get in," Karl said. "I can't even send a thought through the blasted webbing."

"So they have no idea that we're trying to get them out," Nre said, staring at the book.

A line of ink slithered out and coiled around Nre's neck. Iriana closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, it was gone. She felt a pair of eyes on her, and she looked over into Karl's penetrating gaze. It made her want to hide and run toward him at the same time; she felt her knees weaken slightly and she wondered why on earth she was acting so oddly. Karl smiled suddenly.

"I have that effect on women," he said casually, answering her thought.

She blinked, then realized he must have been reading her mind. A very, _very_ disturbing thought.

"That's rude," she said shortly, the strength coming back to her knees.

"What is?" he said, feigning ignorance.

Nre and Faidn looked at the both of them, trying to figure out what they missed.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Iriana said, crossing her arms and glaring.

"You're very cute when you're annoyed," Karl said.

Faidn shifted positions and coughed, as if to make sure Karl knew he was still there, though the fairy was most assuredly aware – and might have perhspas said that precisely _because_ Faidn was listening.

"Stop changing the subject," Iriana said shortly, taking a step closer to Karl. "Promise me you won't do that again without permission."

"Do what again without permission?" he said, taking a step closer to her.

She raised a finger, and found herself very close to touching his nose with it. His eyes stared into hers, and she glared back.

"But, Iriana," he said after a pause in which Iriana was trying very hard to remain frustrated with him, because she knew she had good reason to be. "_Would_ you give me permission?"

"No," she said instantly, imprisoning her hand in the clasp of her elbow once more and taking a small step backward. She felt herself run into Faidn, who had appeared suddenly behind her.

"Then I shan't ever get the chance if I don't do it without your permission. So, whether or not I promise, it would still be rude. I'd rather be only rude, and not break a promise, too," Karl said, stepping toward her.

She was now very definitively sandwiched between two men. Perhaps emboldened by Karl's brazenness, Iriana felt Faidn very cautiously place a hand on her arm – making both of them aware of his presence. Karl's eyes flickered down to Faidn's hand, then up to his eyes. A smirk sat on his mouth like a cat on a windowsill.

"_Don't_," Faidn said over Iriana's head.

Her back was barely touching him; she felt his voice vibrate dangerously in her shoulders. The conversation had gone from coy to cool in a matter of moments. The issue no longer seemed to be whether or not Karl used magic to read her mind, but something bigger.

"Really?" Karl said, his voice easy but his posture tensing.

"Both of you," Nre said tersely. "Stop having an ego-war and get back to the business at hand."

"We can't do anything until—" Karl started, but then Swana walked into the room. "—Swana gets here," he finished, smiling. "Here you go, Captain."

He tossed her the book. Iriana felt her stomach lurch, then sag with relief as Swana caught the book. Faidn took his hand from her arm hurriedly and stepped away, toward Swana. Iriana followed, rubbing the warm patch on her arm and wishing for it to distribute through the rest of her body.

Karl showed Swana the twisting words and asked her what she thought – Iriana tried to keep her eyes off the book, but had trouble doing so.

* * *

_Every day brought the Tyra closer to Winsome castle, but fresh dangers beset their path. Centaurs were everpresent, causing them to scramble off the road at least once an hour to avoid altercations. Lilliana grew impatient with the delay caused by hiding from the centaurs, but Derwin's healing arm kept them from battling the creatures outright._

_With painfully slow progress, they emerged from the Alabaster Wood and started the last leg of their journey – the perilous thoroughfares of Sentis. They were always on the watch for highwaymen and men who acted like beggars in order to pick the pockets of those who came close enough. Lilliana took to wearing the locket around her neck, so as to be sure it wasn't taken from her pocket, though the magic it radiated made her jittery with uncertainty. Keeping a powerful magical token close to a person's body was dangerous enough, and Lilliana had long been feeling the negative effects of the Natalie Locket, though she'd kept her weaknesses hidden from the others. Attaching it around the neck, however, gave the object potential for dangerous control, if the person wasn't strong enough to withstand its influence._

_Lilliana tried not to think of this as the locket thudded against her chest in time with her steps._

_Poverty-stricken towns filled their sight as they continued, until they could no longer imagine the happy, bustling cities of Tyrinth. As they drew closer to the castle, they saw wagonfulls of stone wheat, evidence of the menacing curse's spread._

"This... has never happened before," Derwin said to Lilliana as they passed a pile of discarded crops.

The wheat stalks were fine as paper and broken, but stoney grey and slate-like. The wheat berries fell from their fragile heads, blending into the pebbles and rocks on the path.

"If you're trying to scare me, it's not working," Lilliana said, but the usually sharpness to her tone was gone.

The adventure was starting to wear on her, and ever since the encounter by the pond, she'd been less sure of her own independence – seeing Derwin look anxious when he thought she wasn't looking had more of an effect on her peace-of-mind than she thought it would. She'd always wanted to be free of adults, but it seemed she depended on them more than she'd originally anticipated.

And, if Derwin could hear her thoughts, he'd say that that wasn't such a bad thing.

She frowned.

"I'm not trying to scare you," Derwin said, narrowing an eye at her in mild aggravation – truth be told, she was getting better at showing him some respect, but her attitude was starting to grate on his nerves. "I'm just telling you the truth."

"I suppose the next thing you're going to say is, 'Well, Lilli, now you should get out of the book.'"

He was silent. They trudged along the path, weaving in and among people. Francis and Deborah continued a lively conversation about elves and giants beside them, completely ignoring whatever Derwin and Lilliana were saying.

"Well?" she nudged.

"I haven't heard anything more from the people in the castle," he said quietly.

"Huzzah!" she said, breaking out into a smile. "Perhaps they've decided to let me have my adventure, then!"

"I hope not," he said, with that look on his face that made Lilliana want to scream. There was something he wasn't telling her, and she knew it.

"Why?" she asked, for the hundred-thousandth time.

"Just trust me."

"Why can't _you_ trust _me_?"

"I can't trust you until I know you trust me."

"That doesn't make any sense at all!"

Movement ahead called Derwin's attention away from the argument. The way the tall man was moving through the crowd— _This is going to stay the same_, he realized.

"Lilli," he said, "do what I say."

She opened her mouth to retort, but the situation recalled her strongly to the one by the pond. She closed her mouth and nodded.

"When that man – the tall one, there – comes up to you, use your magic to probe his mind. You'll find something there, from Roger I think, and you'll know what to do."

"Is he going to attack me?" Lilliana asked, spotting the man instantly.

"I'll take care of that. You just get that information."

"But, your arm—"

"You're going to have to trust me if this is going to work," Derwin said.

They looked at each other; the gaze was flinty and wavering, but finally Lilliana nodded. They continued along the road, staying mostly together as they pushed through the crowded streets. The man was making his way toward them, and Lilliana felt the thrill of fear and adventure spike through her body. Her heartbeat quickened; she could almost feel its echo in the cold metal locket, which was pressed against her skin. Derwin squeezed her hand. Instead of glaring at him, she squeezed it back. They were going to do this, together.

As soon as the man was close enough, Lilliana muttered a word and flung her magic at his mind, embracing herself for the impact. As soon as the first tendril touched him, her thoughts were full of _him_. She immediately began sifting through the immediate, fleeting thoughts to find something important, something buried or locked away so he wouldn't forget it.

Through the haze of her magic, she barely saw him draw a dagger to her neck.

In that moment, she almost drew her magic back to attack him – she almost lost her concentration. But at that last second, she closed her eyes, remained still, and focused on sorting through his mind. And an instant later, the dagger was gone. She heard sounds of a scuffle, but she focused on quickly finding whatever it was she was looking for before the man was dead.

And then, she had it. It was instructions to guard oneself against the Natalie Locket's magic, which was protective when around the Drey, but destructive elsewhere. Already, she had begun to feel it wear away at her stamina and concentration. Now, with this information—

She mumbled the word and twisted her magic back from the man, around the Locket, instead. She opened her eyes, feeling energy renew her limbs and mind. A complex spell now cushioned her magic and her body from the effects of the locket. The man lay dead at her feet, Deborah and Francis were pushing towards them again, having been separated in the crowd. Derwin wiped his blade on the man's shirt and sheathed it, left-handed.

"Now, do you trust me?" he asked, barely winded.

As much as it hurt her pride, Lilliana nodded.

"I do."

Derwin glanced at their two companions, who hadn't quite reached them yet, then looked back to Lilliana seriously.

"I want you out of the book, because you're going to die if you stay in," he said. "That's how the story goes. You and Deborah and the princess all die, I kill Roger, and the world lives on."

"But if I die here, I won't _really_ die," Lilliana stammered, her voice rising slightly.

"You will."

Lilliana wanted to accuse him of lying, but found that she couldn't. He wouldn't lie. Not about that.

"What do I do?" she whispered; Deborah and Francis had just arrived.

"Get out," he said, hopelessly, then turned to explain the situation with the man to the other two.

Lilliana began to think very seriously on how to accomplish this task.

* * *

All the delegates had left, but Carvin and Faidn remained in the conference room. Carvin had his head on his arms and had recently stopped muttering about something. Faidn was pacing. They were both trying to ease out of the political headaches before they went to dinner, and neither of them was being particularly successful, as most things seemed to have political implications just then.

"I'm going to marry her," Faidn said suddenly, arresting his motion. It sounded like he'd been wanting to say that for a while.

"I hesitate to say 'congratulations,'" Carvin said into the table, then lifted his head from his arms and looked intently at his friend.

Faidn was facing the other direction.

"How'd that happen?" Carvin prompted lightly.

"I asked, and she said yes," Faidn said, resuming his pacing. "I was under the impression that that's how engagements normally happened."

The conversation had the air of false indifference. Faidn walked to the door and turned around.

"I'm to look for a new general, then," Carvin said, his eyebrows coming together in thought.

"Not _now_," Faidn said, noting the added lines on his friend's visage. "It's customary for engagements in the upperclass to be drawn out, yes?"

"Listen to you," Carvin said, distracted from his new problem of finding a general and fixing his friend with a very odd look. "'Customary,' 'upperclass,' – what's gotten into you?"

"I've been looking into a few things," Faidn shrugged, still pacing.

Carvin was not fooled by his friend's affected nonchalance.

"You don't look into things, Fai," Carvin reminded him. "You jump into things with whatever knowledge you may happen to have."

Faidn was silent. His feet traced a pattern into the wooden floor.

"You're nervous," Carvin stated. "You like her."

Faidn shot him a look.

"Why don't you want to like her?" Carvin asked, knowing the answer but asking anyway.

"Because she's a _princess_," Faidn said in reply, but the word didn't sound so loathsome coming from his mouth as it normally did.

He stopped when he reached a wall, but didn't turn around.

"But she's not _just_ a princess. You can't judge an entire person on one section of their personality, on one position they were born to fill," Carvin said.

"But I can't ignore it, either," Faidn ground out, lifting a fist like he was going to slam it into the wall. He let it come to rest gently against the wall. He spoke again, softly. "I can't ignore that."

"You need to understand it and look past it."

"I don't understand you finer folk," Faidn said, almost viciously.

He turned around to look at Carvin.

"You're scared because you do understand," Carvin said quietly.

Faidn whirled around and left the room.

* * *

**Something like a face-off! Opinions?**

Captain Fantastic**: --laugh-- A few words, here and there, made sense. Brava. As a point of interest, do you know any Italian, or were you just throwing out an Italian farewell just because? The situation is very tricksy-turnsy, hmm? Yes! I think Swana and Nai would have been very good friends – although having Nai as a friend would interminably change Swana's character, just by her mere presence. In a good way, though; Swana is in the tough position of having very few peers, and gaining a peer who is so **_**joyful**_** would help her to be less serious all of the time, methinks.**

Mazkeraide**: Well, for whatever reason you do that, it makes me laugh. --chuckle-- Interesting theories on Rose. Ohh, spider-babies. --laugh-- I'm imagining small children leaping from building to building, shooting webs everywhere. Isn't that a safety hazard? --scared face-- You suspect Swana? Verrry interesting. Although, I would like to point out that I mentioned Swana as a well-respected peacemaker. She has settled many political conflicts before, so she's not completely out of her league.**

Lillian Marie Evans Potter**: Yes, Swana's decision is a little controversial... hence why Carvin has some issues with it. Poor fellow. Hmm, what do you mean about explaining the sub-plots? You mean in the author's notes, or in the story?**

Pimpernel Princess**: HA! Rose and Karl! --dies laughing-- That is a most excellent pairing. I believe I am going to ship them now, no matter **_**what **_**Cadmus says. --gets a death-glare from the dragon--**

Faylinn**: Interesting speculation... --grin-- You're right. Someone **_**should**_** get to run off with Karl one of these days. And Iriana **_**does **_**seem like a good candidate. Hmm. Evil is good, too. Evil is always good. --laughs at the oxymoronic statement she just made without realizing it--**

**Reviewers get a Mountain Bar!**


	29. Bad Story

**26 . 11 . 09**

**Happy Thanksgiving.**

**Disclaimer: Karl is mine. But still out for rent. Please, take him away.**

* * *

Rose turned around, her small feet making no noise on the worn, wooden floor. She'd heard the door open – the front door. That meant Father was home. She clutched the bundle of laundry to her chest in fear; Father was never home this early unless something very bad had happened. She began to walk backwards, keeping two wide eyes on the end of the hallway in case he came around the corner.

Tiny splinters caught at her stockings, tearing miniscule holes in the already ragged pieces of clothing. She paid the splinters no mind. Her heart beat fast, threatening to pound up and out of her mouth with fear. When Father came home early, that meant he'd had too much Bad Stuff, and that meant she was in trouble for something. Underestimating the length of her gangly legs, she bumped into the wall at the far end, making a soft noise.

She froze, petrified in fear, but she heard only lowered voices from the entranceway. There was another man besides her father, which gave her pause. Father didn't often bring other men to the house, unless he had something to sell. It wasn't crop-selling time. She pushed that thought from her mind and returned to the more immediate danger that she was in. She dropped the laundry there in the hallway and started to turn toward the back door – only a few feet away – but found her path blocked. Philip and Tyler had just come in the door, and their eyes were locked on her.

"Where are you going, girl?" Philip asked, walking closer to her and folding his arms.

She shrank back against the wall and swallowed, her eyes darting toward the front of the house, where she heard the men carrying on with their conversation. It didn't sound like they'd heard Philip, either.

"Just—outside," she whispered, lowering her eyes.

"What about the laundry?" Tyler said roughly, kicking the dirty clothing around her feet distastefully. "Don't you have chores to do before you go running around with your mongrel friend?"

"Not that you'll be seeing him any time soon, after that stunt you pulled with the gate yesterday," Philip added nastily, spitting at her feet.

Her eyes teared up for the hundredth time that day as she remembered Orion, his leg hideously broken from trying to jump the fence after she left the stable gate open. She shuddered as she remembered his haunting horse-screams before Father took an axe out to the barn, and everything was quiet.

"Stop your useless crying and do your chores," Tyler said harshly, shoving her shoulders toward the ground. "Go on, girl. Pick it up."

Rose heard the voices by the door stop, and panic jolted her heart free from where it had frozen in fear and anguished remembrance. She scrambled to pick up the laundry and held it to her chest very tightly, sniffling still. Feeling like she was walking to her doom, she walked up the hallway, very slowly. Then she was on her knees, barely catching herself with her hands before her face hit the ground.

"Walk properly," Philip sneered, shoving her again for good measure, though she was already on the ground.

Her knees stung, but that was a normal pain. She was awfully clumsy and forgetful, (How else could she have left the gate open?) and an incurable butterfinger, after all. She was usually on the ground for some reason or another. She gathered the laundry together again and stood up, then gasped and stumbled backwards. Father was right in front of her, looking down at her past his sharp, weathered nose. Another man stood behind him, one who made the hair on the back of Rose's neck rise with animalistic instinct.

Her father was tall, with brown hair thatched to his head like the roof of their house. The man was even taller than he, the crown of his hat very nearly brushing the dirty ceiling of their house. His eyes were shadowed by the hat, but Rose could feel them appraising her – sizing her up. His shirt was clean and white, though evidently used, and the sleeves were rolled up to reveal toned, tanned arms.

Muscles rippled under the skin, and even before Father said anything, Rose suddenly knew exactly what was happening. She'd heard slavery threatened enough to know a slave trader when she saw one. And just when she thought she would panic the most, she found herself with a very clear mind. The back door was behind her, past Tyler and Philip, who were watching the exchange with interest. The front door was past the two men.

"You're going with him, girl," Father said roughly.

"Why?" she asked quickly.

Father's face wrinkled in anger – she knew better than to ask questions. He drew a hand back and slapped her face with a resounding crack. She fell to the side, laundry scattering everywhere. But Rose had planned it that way. She hit the floor on her hands and knees like a cat, far below the reach of the men. She crawled between the two men and then staggered to her feet, regaining her balance just in time to miss the swiping hand of the slave trader. She sprinted for the door, her survival instinct driving her steps where years of malnutrition and overwork could not.

Clad only in stockings, she burst through the front door and wheeled around the side of the house. She saw a glimpse of her mother through the kitchen window, but couldn't spare a proper glance. Already her chest was heaving, and she could hear the curses and shouts of the four men chasing behind her. Her feet caught on little divots in the ground; grass twisted around them like people trying to hold her back.

She ran the only direction she knew to run – toward the creek, toward Aerin's house.

_But I can't lead him to Aerin, _she thought desperately. _I have to run around the back. If I can get to cave before—_

The tall grass struck her in the face, but she pushed through and kept running, along the path she knew. The voices behind her were growing closer. The air in her lungs was stabbing her throat and chest. She was almost there—almost there—almostthere—

"Rose!"

Aerin's voice, the one voice she wanted to hear the most and least in the entire world. She ran into him, but he barely moved. He was stocky for his age, and she was small. His face was lit with concern and he steadied her with hands that belied the awkwardness of their relationship. They were almost thirteen, and everything was strange and new around them and between them.

"Don't—tell—them," she gasped, looking desperately into his eyes and heaving for breath so hard she almost retched at his feet. "Please—Aerin—please—don't."

And then she ran on; the men were getting closer. She saw Aerin turn his head toward the sound of the approaching people, and then she was over the hill. She lost her footing and tumbled down the other side toward the creek. Battered and bruised, she clawed her way into the tiny cave by the creekbed, invisible unless you knew where it was. Aerin would know she was there, but no one else could know.

She tried to slow her breathing as she inhaled dirt and dust and cobwebs. She was safe now. Aerin would never tell. Anyone else in the world would tell, but not Aerin. No one else in the world cared about her, but Aerin did. She'd never told him about Father and her brothers, but she saw him looking at her bruises when he thought she wasn't looking. He knew. She knew he wanted to help, but he was just like her – trapped in silence.

So she knew he would never tell her Father where she was. Not in a million years. Not in a million trillion. She allowed herself a very small smile, which made her face ache where Father had slapped her. She was safe. Safe. _Safe._

And then the slave trader was looking at her through the opening of the cave, and his hand was reaching for her with gnarled, clawlike fingers. Stunned, Rose could hardly think to react. He grabbed her arm and wrenched her from her hiding place and onto the bank; Rose felt something snap in her shoulder and cried out. The man drove the heel of his palm into her cheekbone in an agonizing blow unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She fell at his feet, whimpering, holding her face and her shoulder at the same time and choking on frightened, pained tears.

"Never, _ever_ run away from me," the man snarled, kneeling down to her level. "Do you understand?"

She squeaked and curled into a tighter ball. The man kicked her, the boot hitting just above her eye. Everything went black and white and black again as she bit back a scream.

"Answer me!"

"Yes, sir," she shivered, barely able to form the words.

She blinked a hundred times, each time bringing back pieces of the grass and ground in front of her. And then the boot caught her mouth.

"You will call me Master, and Master only," the man commanded. "Do you understand?"

"Y-y-yes, Ma-aster," she said, carefully, cautiously, then spat out a mouthful of blood.

She tried to tell herself it was just like when Tyler punched her in the mouth, but that was a lie. Her teeth were not loose when he had punched her – not the ones all the way in the back. Master yanked her to her feet, and her shoulder screamed in pain. But she bit her bloody lip and didn't make a sound, though tears poured from her swollen eyes. The Master led her away, and that day she learned what she was really worth.

Nothing. Even Aerin had turned away from her. She was nothing. Nothing at all.

She felt nothing at all.

There was nothing left in her to feel.

* * *

Derwin was in a field of tall grass. It brushed against his face with familiarity in the breeze. The sun was high in the sky, and the air was cool. He heard a voice call his name. He turned toward the sound, but there was nothing there.

_Help me_

The wind whispered to him. The voice called again. He turned around, and then he woke up. He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. That voice.

"Derwin," Lilliana called. "Hurry up. We're getting close."

"How much further?" he heard himself say.

His mind wasn't on the conversation; this was part of the book's dialogue. Instead, he watched Lilliana's eyes. They were tired and scared, but strong. He'd gotten good at reading eyes since he'd fallen into the book, because others would join him from time to time. This princess never ceased to surprise him, whether with her stubbornness and tenacity, or now her loyalty and attentive ear. She truly was a child. There was no emotional politics to be had with her; before she trusted him, she hardly gave him the time of day. Now that she'd ruled him worthy to listen to, she asked him a thousand questions about everything.

"How do I die?" Lilliana asked.

Derwin pulled his focus back to the conversation – the obligatory morning dialogue was over, and Lilliana was asking him a genuine question as they walked along the never-ending path, between towns for the moment.

"The castle collapses after you put the locket on the statue of Dray," he said. "You, Marsha, and Deborah are crushed, and then Francis and I defeat Roger. Roger's magic dissipates and heals the land, and everyone is happy."

"That's a rotten ending," Lilliana said, scrunching her face up in disapproval. "What kind of kid's book is this?"

"A magic one," Derwin pointed out. "I'd assume it was probably created for the express purpose of sucking in young girls and killing them."

"Well, this girl is not going to get crushed by a castle made of words," Lilliana said, folding her arms stubbornly. "I'll figure something out. Everything's changing, right? Maybe we can mess with the plot, so at least my character doesn't die."

"Maybe," he said, uncertainly. He wasn't sure if they could facilitate that big of a change; it would be awfully risky. _But, what else could we do?_ "I guess that's the only thing we _can_ do," he admitted, "unless someone outside the book can figure out how to break the spell." As an afterthought, his mind still replaying the dream in the back of his head, he added: "Let's see if we can't save Marsha, too."

"I thought she was just a character," Lilliana said, tilting her head.

Derwin recalled the voice and rubbed his chin. That voice.

"I don't know," he said after a hesitation. "I thought she was, but I feel like... she's trying to talk to me. In my dreams. Maybe she's not in the book the same way you are, but another person trapped in the spell somehow."

"In your dreams?" Lilliana said, but her tone wasn't condescending; it was thoughtful. "I thought that was part of the story. I've been dreaming of Marsha ever since I got here. She just keeps asking for help." She paused, then laughed, but oddly. "It's funny, though – Marsha looks and sounds like Aunt Rose. I guess since I've never seen her..."

"Where did you say you were from again?" Derwin interrupted abruptly.

"Berensia," Lilliana said, then looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Not that I see how that has anything to do with dreaming of Marsha."

"She just asks for help?" he said, shaking his head and coming back to the topic.

"Yeah," Lilliana said with a nod. "But she's not talking _to_ me, I don't think. Just sort of... saying it. Or, thinking it, I guess. She's lying down, asleep, but I hear her voice."

"I don't think that's ever happened before," Derwin said. "Julia dreaming of Marsha, I mean. Maybe your Aunt got mixed up in this somehow."

"Oh, poor Auntie," Lilliana said, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. "If there's any chance Auntie's involved, we _have_ to save Marsha, too."

"This is going to be difficult. Maybe impossible," Derwin said, rubbing his hands on his pant legs as he thought.

"They'll help us, too – my family," Lilliana said confidently. "They'll never give up."

"I hope so," Derwin said. "With everything going crazy, I guess now's as good a time as it's ever going to be for escaping."

"That's about as optimistic as I've ever heard you," Lilliana observed, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"I'm optimistic," Derwin said defensively, then considered. _Am I?_

"No, you're not," Lilliana corrected. "You're a stick in the mud. You were always trying to get me out—"

"For good reason!" Derwin protested.

Lilliana continued speaking over him.

"—but never seemed to think we would ever _actually_ get out. You never notice when something good happens, only when bad things happen."

"Hey," Derwin said, interrupting. "That's unfair. I've seen the same things happen more times than I care to remember. I noticed the good things the first two hundred times. Now the only things I notice are the things that are changing, which are worrisome and usually bad."

"Alright," Lilliana said, conceding that point. "But also, you don't smile."

Derwin chuckled.

"Really?"

"Really," Lilliana said, smiling. "There, that's nice. Keep that."

"I guess I've just been so worried about you, I never thought to smile," he considered.

"_That_ is a tragedy," Lilliana said, throwing her arms wide. "That you have to _think_ to smile! It must be a grown-up thing."

"It is," Derwin said, grinning at her wide-eyed exasperation at adult-kind. "There are so many things to think about when you're an adult, not the least of which is keeping stubborn little girls like _you_ out of trouble."

"Oh, pish-tush," Lilliana said, flapping her hand dismissively. "I can look out for myself, mostly. And anyway, adults need to relax and smile sometimes, too. The only adult I know who smiles a lot is Iriana, and she gets in trouble with other adults for being happy. And Uncle Fai – but sometimes he's serious, too."

"You need a little more help looking out for yourself than you want to admit," Derwin said with amusement. "There's a reason why adults are in charge, you know. Sometimes we've been through stuff before that you haven't been through, and we can keep you from making dumb mistakes."

"Adults are bossy," Lilliana retorted. "There are too many rules."

"Rules are there to keep everyone safe," Derwin explained. "If there were no rules, everyone would get hurt."

"I didn't say I wanted _no rules,_" Lilliana said with emphasis, "just _less rules._"

"Which rules would you get rid of?" Derwin asked, humoring her.

"Being polite to everyone," she said immediately. "It's such a hassle, and it doesn't matter."

"Manners show that you can handle yourself responsibly and they show respect for others – two things very important with a royal princess, if she is ever going to have any say in political matters."

"Hum," she said, looking as if she didn't want to admit that he made sense. "I'd also get rid of awful poofy dresses."

"Dressing nicely also shows that your country cares about appearance and wants to look its best."

Lilliana gave him a look.

"I'd make there be less lessons."

"How are you going to rule if you don't know geography – where all the other countries are? Or history, so you don't make the same mistakes as your ancestors did? Or math, so you can be sure you're not being cheated?"

"How do _you_ know so much about being a royal princess, anyhow?" Lilliana said, aggravated at his logical rebuttal of her dreaming.

"I did my time," he said casually, then continued. "Rules are important. Your parents and other adults probably know what's better for you than you do. You have to trust them and obey them."

"You were a prince? Are a prince?" Lilliana said, obviously missing the latter half of his statement in her shock at the former half.

"No," he said. "Were you listening? I actually said something important, you know."

"Then what do you mean, you 'did your time'?" she badgered.

"Nevermind," he said. "Hey, keep your hand in your pocket as we go through this town."

Lilliana did so without question, surprising Derwin; he'd been ready to explain that a beggar would try to pickpocket the Natalie Locket, and it would be easier to avoid if she had her hand on it. Lilliana, however, didn't ask. For all her stubbornness, Derwin decided, she really was a lovely girl.

* * *

Though Faidn usually escorted Iriana to her chamber each night when the hour grew late, it seemed the war councils were keeping him from the sickroom. Gregory had escorted her a few times, but he'd been called back to his estate on urgent business earlier that morning. Iriana considered, with a bit of a guilty feeling, that she hardly noticed his absence. Swana and Karl had negated his usefulness, and he'd spent a lot of his time dropping things and being nervous instead of doing something particularly useful.

Iriana yawned, dispelling those thoughts, and slipped out the door alone, trying to shake the book from her mind. The hallway was dark, lit only sparsely with torches. She guessed it was close to midnight, and she yawned again. The darkness in the hallway flickered with the torches. Suddenly, she was uneasy. Something about the shadows made her skin crawl.

She turned around to go back into the room when the door opened in front of her. She stifled a yelp as Karl appeared in the doorway, smirking.

"Afraid of the dark?" he said easily.

"Hm," she said noncommittally, not wishing to admit her nervousness to the man. "Are you going to escort me?"

"In the absence of your fiancé, somebody must," he said sacrificially, taking her arm and starting down the hall. "And anyway, I need a break from that book. When I close my eyes, all I see are words, words, words."

"Where's the book now?" Iriana asked, looking down at his empty hand.

"Blessedly _not_ in my hands," Karl said. "I'm about ready to hop in there myself and take fat old Hughes on in a duel, if that means I never have to look at that book again."

"Wouldn't that be easier than trying to untangle the spell, or whatever it is you're doing now?" Iriana said, looking at him.

"It would," Karl allowed, "except that entering into an object is far easier than getting back out again. As evidenced by Lilliana, Rose, and Derwin's escapades."

"Oh," she said, because there wasn't anything else to say.

Karl wasn't about to let the mood be dampened by the threat of doom, however.

"So, _are_ you afraid of the dark?" Karl asked.

Iriana fastened him with a suspicious look.

"I don't think I want to answer that question. Your tone of voice is suspect."

"Suspect of what?" he said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. He didn't think he'd used a particularly suspect tone, personally.

"I don't know," she said, examining him for a moment longer, then looking away. "Just something."

"Well, that sounds like a jolly reason to be curt with a friend."

"Oh, stop it," Iriana said, laughing. "Don't act like you're offended."

"I might be," Karl said, but he was grinning.

"You've had worse than that, I'm sure of it," Iriana said.

"Now, what makes you think that?" Karl said.

"This hearkens back to our last conversation we had when you escorted me to my chamber," Iriana said. "You're a rogue. Women and men alike have doubtless called you many unpleasant things and treated you in much ruder ways than I did just now."

"You paint me as a person who doesn't fraternize with high society," Karl said, making a face. "In fact, that makes me sound extremely unsavory."

"And yet, you aren't," Iriana said pensively. She was silent a moment, then looked at him and chuckled. "I suppose it's because of your clever mouth. You could talk your way out of anything, I'm almost certain."

"Oh, I am certain. I've done it," Karl said, nodding appreciatively. "But I mean at least one-third of what I say, and that should count for something."

Iriana laughed.

"Oh, Karl."

"Do you know what?" Karl said suddenly.

"What?" Iriana replied.

"I think Faidn actually does like you," he said contemplatively. "Not that I blame him, of course, but it is surprising."

"Surprising how?" Iriana asked, glossing over the first part of his statement, though it made her heart flutter a little.

"He never struck me as the marrying type," Karl said jauntily. "Or the cavorting type. Or any sort of woman-relating type at all, really. He's always been much too concerned with saving people's lives to bother with women's hearts. But you—" Karl raised his eyebrows at her appreciatively. "you seem to have caught his attention somehow. As I said, I don't blame him in the least. You are very beautiful."

"Well, I hope you're right," Iriana said. "We are getting married, after all. At some point. Hmm, my mother is probably planning the wedding already."

Karl caught the hesitancy in her voice like an expert and pounced.

"You're still concerned."

"Of course," she said, glancing at him, then away again. "I don't know him very well. I hardly know why I said yes – except, I suppose, that I know him about as well as I'd know anyone else I'd be married to, and it would be scandal to break off the engagement now."

"Scandal," Karl said, savoring the word.

Iriana laughed suddenly, but shortly.

"Something tells me you have been part of many scandals in your day," she said to him.

He adopted the overly modest look of one flattered.

"One or two, maybe," he said demurely. "Certainly I'm a man given to hasty acts of passion. That cannot be denied. When the mood strikes me, and the light is right, and the stars are aligned so perfectly as to entreat such an occasion – yes, I can sometimes incite a scandal. But only on a very rare occasion."

"Oh, only _very_ rarely," Iriana said, nodding seriously.

"Indeed," Karl said.

They arrived at her door.

"A kiss goodnight?" he entreated, his tone jesting.

"I have quite enough scandal attached to my name without _your_ help," Iriana said with a laugh, slipping her arm from his.

He caught her hand and kissed it, never taking his eyes from hers.

"Good night, fair Iriana."

"Good night, my roguish friend," Iriana said, shaking her head and closing the door against his smirking laugh, the book forgotten – for the moment.

* * *

**So?**

Pimpernel Princess**: I thought so, too. They deserve a moment of rest. --smile-- Faidn wouldn't be Faidn if he wasn't impetuous, would he? --grin-- Hmm, wait and see... Heh heh, what else are friends for than embarrassing you and making you come to terms with your own feelings?**

Lillian Marie Evans Potter**: A Mountain Bar is a west coast thing, I suppose. It's chocolate around some sort of awesome filling. O.o Ah, I would, but I already have very little time to even write author's notes at all. Sorry. :-( Hmm, good thoughts. --smile-- Thanks!**

Faylinn**: 1) Excellent. --laugh-- 2) Ha! Nice little speculation, there, with the projected conversation. 3) What would a story be without stress and tension? Just keep reading. It will be resolved at the end, promise.**

Captain Fantastic**: Ah, okay. Heh, so much awesome! --laugh-- Thanks! I'm glad you liked the metaphor. Yeah, no: Roger is not intimidating. Hughes is a fail-author. I've been tongue-in-cheek making fun of him the whole time. Heh. Predictable, overused plot, characters with wacko names (Deborah, Francis, Julia, and Derwin. I mean, seriously?) But, ah, that's just for my own personal amusement. Aw, thanks. You're more awesome. --smile--**

**Reviewers get something other than turkey, because I'm sure you'll have had enough of **_**that **_**here very soon!**


	30. An Aside VI

**6 . 12 . 09**

**Note the title again. And also note that I'm putting up two chapters at once: this one and chapter 31.**

* * *

Commotion was roiling outside the castle gates. The peasants were rioting, and they were too many to dissipate without killing hundreds of them. A boy dressed in finery looked out of the castle window bleakly, wishing he could do something, but knowing he couldn't. He knew how they felt – but they wouldn't listen to him. Their leader had stirred them up well, and there was no way the king could react to this in any peaceful way. This meant war, and that's just what their leader wanted. He wanted the king to move against the peasants and further prove his cruelty, and then the revolution would be unstoppable.

The boy watched the torches burning brightly in the angry hands of faces he knew, though not by name. The farmers, the merchants, the peddlers, the shoemakers, the tailors, the cooks, the inkeepers – he knew them all. And now their leader knew them all just as well, and he was ready to turn against his own upbringing to ensure that they would be avenged all of their cruel wrongs.

The boy could only stare. He heard people running in the castle, servants and nobles rushing to and fro in a panic. They were readying themselves to defend the castle; it was a vain, silly, pompous effort – yet one so undeniably Ellespethian that he supposed he couldn't entirely blame them. People of Ellespeth were always ready to defend their ideals, even when it was completely hopeless. The boy reflected that maybe that wasn't such a bad trait, though indeed a pointless one. If he was actually the prince, he thought he would be there with them, fighting off the peasant until he was overcome by sheer numbers.

But he wasn't the prince. Neither, however, did he wish to join in the rabble outside. In the years he'd spent as the prince, he'd learned a great deal about politics. From this knowledge, he could see that nothing good would come of this revolt. They would slaughter the royal family, and then the country would fall to anarchy. Or, they would instate their leader as the new king – which would be the most ironic option, the boy thought, since their leader was the _real_ prince.

The only hope for the country was if the riot somehow died down and the king was rattled enough to actually _listen _to the boy's ideas instead of disregarding them as youthful fantasy. The Admiral and a few other nobles had told him privately that they would support him if he decided to stage a coup and dethrone the king with relatively little bloodshed. He wished the plans for the coup hadn't taken so long – otherwise it would be he on the throne, now, and he would have appeased the peasants long before they'd come pounding angrily on his doorstep.

He just wished the king wouldn't be hasty. The peasants were bound to calm down in a few days. A few days was all he needed to get the last few pieces of his plan into place, and once the king was out of the way, he could negotiate with the _real_ prince in person, and they could come to an understanding. If the mob didn't burn down the castle before then.

There was a knock on the boy's door.

"Enter," he sighed.

"Prince Isaiah."

He turned to regard the Admiral with some measure of hope.

"Did Beauregard turn up?" he asked.

"My prince," the man said, with the air of one speaking to a child, "I'm afraid it's too late for that."

"Maybe," the boy said, glancing out the window. "Unless the crowd disperses."

The Admiral shook his head.

"They are determined. This is the last of the nobility of Ellespeth, I am afraid. Come, your father is gathering everyone in the Hall of Kings."

The boy pulled himself to his feet and followed the Admiral. His long legs easily kept stride with the older man's gait.

"They don't have any quarrel with me, though," he considered aloud. "Perhaps if I hide away, I can reason with them."

The Admiral looked at him cryptically, but said nothing. The boy was desperate. Nothing else could possibly work, but this had a slim chance of success.

"Admiral, gather those loyal to our cause and we'll hide in the dungeons. Mayhap we can convince them to listen to us. The leader, at least, must have some sense."

He didn't notice that the Admiral wasn't leading him to the Hall of Kings until he blinked and realized he was in a study, and the Admiral was locking the door behind him. One look at the Admiral's face, and the boy lost any hope he'd had of living to see the end of the day.

"You, Admiral?" he said, feeling like he'd been kicked in the gut.

The Admiral was his staunchest supporter, and the one who'd helped him organize the coup. And now, a traitor. _Welcome to Ellespeth, harbor of backstabbers and thieves,_ he thought sardonically.

The Admiral drew a dagger without expression, and the boy reached for his own blade, but his fingers found an empty sheath. He cursed his own preoccupation, realizing that the Admiral must have slipped it from his belt as they walked, and started to walk backward, away from the Admiral. His eyes focused on the clean, sharp, deadly blade that the Admiral wielded. _Getting stabbed – this is going to _hurt.

Fear clogged his lungs as he realized what was actually happening, and he ran into a table as he was stumbling backward. He reached instinctively to steady himself and found that a book lay under his fingers. Without any concept of what to do with it, he thrust the book in front of him like a shield in panic. His eyes snagged on the text automatically.

" _Der__win pulled his sword from his sheath and menaced it at the giant._

_'Stay away! Back from this damsel!' "_

The Admiral advanced and knocked the book from his grip, then raised the dagger. Thoughts ran through his head, pulsating with the adrenaline that was coursing through his system. _I wish this wasn't happening, I wish I could explain I wish I could say goodbye I wish there was one more chanceIwishI'dfoundDenise—_

_I wish I was Derwin._

The thought was crystal clear and made no sense at all, but the boy thought it. Then, the dagger drove toward his heart and there was a rushing sound in his ears. He closed his eyes and braced himself for an explosion of pain.


	31. Savior

**6 . 12 . 09**

**I've posted two chapters at once, so don't forget to read chapter 30 before you read this one! Now that I have recovered my documents from my old computer (who is now in the shop, poor Constance) I shall begin updating again. And since I haven't posted in such a long time, I decided to give you two.**

* * *

Iriana couldn't sleep. She turned over in her bed, staring blearily at the clock on her chamber wall. It read half-past three in the morning. She groaned aloud and turned to face the ceiling. She'd been trying to sleep ever since Karl had escorted her to her chamber door over three hours ago, but her mind refused to let her rest. It raced from one thought to another with the desperate speed of an obsessive mother goose, constantly retracing its steps and making unwarranted connections between things.

She thought about Karl, since he was on her mind after escorting her to her room. He was handsome and charming and made her stomach warm whenever he was around – usually because he was complimenting her in some fashion. She wondered what he was, exactly; he'd said he was a fiari, but only half. _How can someone be a half-fiari? Is he half-fiari and half-fairy? Or half fiari and half human?_ She contemplated how much of his flattery was genuine and how much of it was out of habit. She imagined how many other ladies he must have said the exact same things to and sighed.

Some men were just incorrigibly smooth. _One day it will come back to bite him,_ she told herself, then wrinkled her nose. _Or, knowing him, he'd figure out a way to avoid it. Ugh._

That made her think of how much Faidn seemed to resent Karl, and she wondered why. They obviously knew each other from before this encounter, and Iriana tried to imagine how. She knew that Karl had somehow been involved in the adventure Cameron and Nre had had years ago, and that Faidn had played a part as well, but she didn't think they were really involved in the same part of the adventure for very long – certainly not long enough to build up a wall of animosity. Karl occasionally mentioned a Philettin war in passing, and Faidn always got very quiet until he moved on to another topic.

Puzzling through pieces of conversations, Iriana deduced that Karl and Faidn had both been involved in the same war at one point. She thought Swana might have had something to do with it, too, until she remembered that Swana was much younger than she had thought at first – very close to her own age, actually. And, according to the dates of the war, Swana would have been only eight or nine at the time, which didn't make sense. So, Karl and Faidn had fought a war together, presumably on the same side, and had come out of it disliking each other.

Even in her sleep-deprived mind, that didn't make a whole lot of sense. She didn't relish the idea of asking Karl or Faidn to explain, however; she considered that Rose would probably know. That brought to mind Faidn's comment the other day. He'd stated quite conclusively that Rose was like a sister to him.

Iriana was an expert at detecting lies or hesitations; Faidn had been completely honest when he'd said that, which surprised Iriana. She'd naturally assumed that there was something of a relationship between Rose and Faidn, even if it wasn't publicly acknowledged. Having that preconception so thoroughly and neatly disbanded was almost alarming. She'd been basing her thoughts entirely on the assumption that Faidn's affection lay, at least in part, elsewhere – that his oddly mixed reactions toward her might have been partly on fear and heartache for Rose.

But, a sister. That hadn't entered her mind. However, now that she knew that, things made more sense. Nre would have been the first to mention Faidn and Rose – she was very keen on relationships between people. And, though Iriana got the impression that Nre didn't like Faidn very much, she knew that Nre thought Rose to be almost a little ward of hers and was very interested in Rose's life. Nre would surely have mentioned something if there was anything there. _I should have realized that right away,_ she thought with some mild aggravation.

And then, if he wasn't attached to Rose, his actions toward her had been very reserved – though Karl had unwittingly given a hint of that in their most recent conversation. He'd known Faidn much longer than Iriana had, and he'd expressed some surprise that Faidn seemed to be showing interest in Iriana, implying that he generally didn't show interest in women, or at least not obviously enough for Karl to see.

It was then that she realized she'd been thinking about _men_ for hours and was still awake, rolling over to look at the clock. She stared at it for a while in hopes that it would be morning, but the clock ticked resolutely onward according to its normal pace.

She sighed again and sat up, dangling her legs over the edge of the bed. Her body protested tiredly, but her mind was far too alert to lie back down now. So she pulled on a light dress, fastening the simple tie behind her back, and stepped out into the corridor, intending to go for a walk in the garden.

The shadows slithered and frayed in her vision, dangling and swaying to the torchlight. She gulped, feeling illogically uneasy in the darkness, and hurried down the hallway. Her dress dragged barely on the ground, the threads catching on tiny faults in the marble. The hallway was completely silent, eerily void of any servants moving about and discussing the best way to bake a loaf of bread or weed a carrot patch. Her heart started to beat faster, though there was nothing there that should have been frightening. She thought she felt her toes catch on a thread and she stumbled.

It was then that she realized she was barefoot; she couldn't walk in the garden without any shoes on.

She stopped walking, peering behind her in the corridor. There was no thread in the pathway, and the way back looked very, _very_ dark. She bit her lip, unsure what to do. She didn't want to go back to her chamber. There was no way she was going to sleep anytime soon.

Iriana shifted her feet. The dark seemed to be getting closer to her.

She didn't want to stay there, either. So she set off toward the sickroom; Rose was sleeping now, same as she was sleeping any other time of the day. She might as well go there.

Silence echoed in her ears. She heard every single noise she made – her rapid, nervous breathing, her padding footfalls, her dragging skirt. The feeling of being so completely alone in the flickering black made her heart beat even faster. The darkness caught her fingertips in little fibers, and she folded her hands together and quickened her footsteps. Her toes began to tangle in tiny broken pieces of thread that vanished when Iriana looked at them. She clenched her teeth and told herself it was the lack of sleep – but she was grateful nonetheless to see the door of the sickroom door in front of her.

She put her hand on the knob and gripped it, then felt instantly a thick knot of strings binding her hand to the door. She didn't even look this time, just opened the door and removed her hand. The strings vanished. She rubbed her hand, ill-at-ease, and let her eyes adjust to the light in the room.

There were always lamps in the corners, keeping the room at a comfortable level of light, equivalent to a bright dusk. It was much more comforting than the sparse torchlight in the corridors had been. As her vision came to grips with the light, she was surprised to see Faidn at Rose's bedside. She'd assumed he went back to his own room after escorting her to her chamber – but it appeared he came back to keep watch over Rose through the night.

He was sitting up, but his head had dropped to his chest. His hand rested next to Rose's on the bed. He looked forlorn, and something inside of Iriana wanted to put a hand on his cheek and tell him it would be alright.

She noticed that the book was on the floor at the end of the bed, too, but she quickly looked away, closing the door softly behind her,. Despite her caution, the quiet sound jerked Faidn's head from his chest and fixed his eyes uncomprehendingly on her.

"What—time is it?" Faidn asked, his eyebrows coming together.

"Almost four o'clock in the morning," Iriana hazarded to guess. "I couldn't sleep."

"Oh, alright," Faidn said, eyebrows raising again. "I didn't think I'd been asleep for very long, but when you arrived, I figured it had to be morning."

"No," she said, coming over to sit next to him after a moment's hesitation. "I was going to go for a walk in the garden, but..."

She poked a foot out from underneath the skirt of her dress and wiggled her toes. Faidn smiled, a smile that actually looked genuinely amused and not preoccupied or affected.

"That might be a problem," he agreed.

"So I came here," she said with a slight shrug. "I thought Rose could always use some company; I didn't know you stayed the nights here."

There was an abashed apology included in that statement, one that Faidn accepted and dismissed with another smile – one that couldn't help but make Iriana smile, too.

"She could."

They looked at each other, and Iriana became suddenly aware of the fact that there was no one else in the room, save for a sleeping woman. Iriana was the first to look away, Faidn's eyes imprinted on her own. She took a breath and started a conversation, asking something she'd been curious about since her realization about Faidn and Rose.

"How do you know Rose so well?"

Faidn looked like he wasn't going to answer at first. His eyes rested on her hand, which was on the bed.

"After my first war, over in Philettin," he said, "I stayed at the palace for a while. That was a hard one. Rose... she's been through her share of hard things, too. We just sort of helped each other to move past the past, I guess."

He looked at her and half-smiled.

"Why?"

"Oh, I was just wondering," Iriana said, perhaps a little too quickly. "I only hear about Rose from Nre, and Nre didn't usually mention you in her letters."

"No, she wouldn't," Faidn said, narrowing his eyes a little, then shaking his head. "I love her — I really do. But, I'm glad I'm not married to her."

"Can I ask you something else?" Iriana asked, mustering up her courage.

"Sure," Faidn said, noticing her rushed tone and glancing at her face.

"Why don't you like Karl?"

Faidn's face darkened a little, and he frowned.

"Well, Karl doesn't like me, either," Faidn said. "We... disagree on a lot of things."

"Like his behavior," Iriana supplied.

"Yes," Faidn agreed, then added: "And his attitude. And his character."

"So basically, you just don't like him, as a person," Iriana laughed.

Faidn laughed too.

"Basically," he acquiesced.

They talked for over an hour after that, of all sorts of things. Even though Rose was still sleeping in front of them, the conversation barely touched on her, or on the calamities and worries of politics, or magic, or anything else. They just talked about their pasts, friends, escapades, favorite foods, and anything else that came to mind. It surprised Iriana how similar their stories were, though hers took place in castles and ballrooms and his in houses and woods.

When Faidn left to go to an early-morning council meeting, Iriana was smiling. A contentedness that she couldn't explain had settled over her, and she was beginning to think that deciding to marry Faidn might have been one of the best decisions she'd made in a long time.

* * *

Rose stretched out a hand in the inky dark. She felt the blackness running over her fingers, over her arms, over her face. The warm-ink darkness was a wind, tossing her hair with fluidity. It was a lover, caressing her limbs and lips. It was a cocoon, wrapping her tightly and never letting her go. She wished it would never let her go. It was warm and frightening and so, so dark. But the darkness was better than the day. The black was better than the light. The warmth was better than the cold. In the dark she could forget she was empty.

But even as she held the remaining moments of darkness with a grip that was impossibly strong, she held out a desperate hope that her younger self couldn't have fathomed to hope. She knew the end of this story. She knew that she would make it through to Berensia alive. She knew her heart would slowly and achingly form itself into a shape that would never look like it had as a wide-eyed child, but would nonetheless allow her a smile and allow her to love. She knew that she wasn't as useless and hated as she thought she was.

She knew that, in time, she would trust people again, and her narrow perceptions of the world would begin to be widened. Nre would teach her to read. Carvin would teach her to see things from other people's points of view. Sarah would teach her how to enjoy the dough that rose just so. Dannlin would teach her to make jokes. Stephen would teach her to play make-believe. Lilliana would teach her to make voices when she read out loud. Ceilear would teach her to sing.

In the desolate, protective womb of night, Rose faced the dawn, blinded, but bold with hope.

And the sun rose.

And the sun set.

(Or did it rise?)

And the sun rose.

(Or did it set?)

The days ran together into sleepless nights and dreamy days. Life at the Master's was different from life at home, but not _very_ different. Her mother wasn't there to even try to help her. The other slaves were grateful when she was singled out instead of they for a mishandled chore. She was often the brunt of the Master's wrath, because she was clumsy and fumbled things no matter how hard she tried. Even when she didn't fumble things, she was blamed and beaten. The beating was worse, but she grew accustomed to that. She knew about pain – the different sorts and styles. It was just a matter of growing used to the different sort of pain that the Master used.

Even in this, she wasn't completely hopeless. After all, it wasn't too much different from home. Something of her childish resistance held on to the fairy-tale dream that one day she would wake up and it would be over. That Aerin would charge in on his steed and sweep her away. There was something in her – something that wouldn't let go of the sun, even when it sank below the horizon and she lay shivering on the ground and dreaming of darkness and death. It was insane. It was impossible.

Rising and setting and blending of night and day, and then—

The Master's son came home from the war. He was young and beautiful, but he was dangerous. The first time he stepped through the door, he brushed past Rose. She smelled horse and dirt and sweat, and looked up at him. Even the back of his head was beautiful – brown hair tousled from a long ride on horseback. When he looked at her, though, her fingers clenched together in fear. He was dangerous.

She tried to avoid him, but he found ways to run into her, to watch her from a distance. He ordered that she scrub the entryway while he read a book on the chair. That she groom his horse while he watched to be sure she did nothing wrong. That she clean his room. He taunted her, told her she was worthless, pointed out things she did wrong, and laughed whenever she fumbled something. She hated him, and she knew he hated her. Why did he always watch her, if he hated her so?

He made her work into the night while he watched with his hateful eyes.

Rising, rising, rising – there was no escape from the sun.

He never used a whip or switch, like his father, but his words lashed into her hope everyday, cutting pieces away. Every day she saw only his feet, heard only his voice. She slept on the floor of his bedroom like a pet, curled on the ground by the fireplace. Every night she dreamt only of his burning eyes, his burning touch in the oppressive dark. His horrible words seeped into her ears, into her mind, becoming her own thoughts. She _was_ ugly. She _was_ worthless. She wasn't worth even this, even this.

His hands went through her skin and clawed at her soul. It was in shreds already, and she gave up trying to protect herself. She wasn't worth it. Even this.

His breath blew through her heart, carrying away the threads and shatters of her mind and soul. He left her empty and windswept and aching. There was nothing left here. And she didn't even deserve the emptiness; she deserved worse than this. Even this.

And the sun no longer set. Only rose.

* * *

Francis and Deborah continued to make little to no sense as they furthered their journey toward Winsome Castle. Lilliana and Derwin learned to ignore them, though the babbling was a constant reminder that the book was dangerous and unpredictable. Both Lilliana and Derwin were on edge after they'd planned out what they would do at Winsome Castle to try to circumvent the book's plot. They wanted both to arrive at the castle and get the incident over with, and to linger as long as possible before getting there – Lilliana's life, after all, was at stake.

Lilliana was trying to forget that, though her wide, frightened eyes occasionally betrayed that she wasn't as brave as she wanted to be. Derwin didn't forget that, and he couldn't help feeling, like he had with the other Julias, responsible somehow. He was going to try as hard as he could, but there was a big chance that it wouldn't work. If no one outside the book discovered how to break the spell, they were on their own.

"Tomorrow," Derwin said to Lilliana's unasked question.

The fire crackled. Deborah and Francis were making small talk on the other side, and they were speaking low enough that Derwin and Lilliana could pretend like they were making sense. Lilliana stared into the fire from her position next to him. Her eyes were very bright. Her hand clasped a stick very tightly; the tip trembled a breath from his knee. She was anxious about the next day – as he was. Derwin felt like he should say something encouraging, something to lift her spirits. Before he could formulate anything, she looked away from the fire, at him.

"I'm scared," she said, her voice quavering. "I want to be brave, but I'm scared. I wish – I wish I could see my Mom and Dad, and Ceilear, and Mittie..."

"If we do this right, you'll see them again," he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

Her eyes began to fill with tears.

"But if we don't, I'm going to _die._"

"Oh, Lilli," he said, giving up on saying anything uplifting and just putting his arms around her.

She collapsed into his embrace, crying the tears of a frightened child into his shirt and clinging to him with the arms of a girl who misses her father. Derwin hugged her, rubbing her back with an aching sigh and not saying anything at all.

And then she _was_ a child – a young girl with messy brown hair half tied into place with ribbons, wearing a fancy ball gown. She was still crying, not noticing the change, but Derwin blinked repeatedly, to be sure he wasn't seeing things. Then he noticed his own arm, rubbing Lilliana's back. It was _his_ arm – longer, paler, and less muscular than the master swordsman's.

"Lilliana," he said, almost choking on the word.

Noticing his strange tone, she pulled away from him and looked up questioningly. Her eyes widened and she yelped, then covered her mouth with her hands.

"You—ahh!" she noticed her own hands, small and soft again, and forgot what she was going to say about Derwin.

Then they both blinked, and when they opened their eyes, it was as if nothing had changed.

"What... happened?" Lilliana asked, looking around as if to see something that would explain.

"I don't know," Derwin started to say, and then they were both changed again.

Before they could say anything, they returned to their storybook appearance.

"Something is happening to the book," Lilliana said in a very nervous voice. "Something bigger than anything that's happened before. Maybe they're breaking the spell."

Derwin just nodded, rather than speak the thought that was on his mind: _Or maybe the book is finally collapsing under the weight of its own magic._ It seemed Lilliana guessed at his ominous prediction, because she didn't question his silence.

From the direction of the castle came a sudden wind. It was cool and warm and tingled when it touched their skin.

"What's this?" Lilliana asked Derwin.

"I don't know," Derwin said grimly, looking over at their companions.

Deborah and Francis didn't seem to notice the wind, which was beginning to pick up. The fire was unaffected, though the wind was now whipping Lilliana's hair about wildly and pulling at Derwin's jacket with hands of air and magic.

"Shouldn't we hide somewhere? Or do something?" Lilliana yelled, looking frightened.

"There's nowhere to hide here; it's all fields," Derwin said, glancing at their surroundings. "Try feeling it with your magic. See if you can tell where's it's coming from."

Lilliana closed her eyes and Derwin looked all around for the source of the strange wind, which had now began to gust dangerously. When he could see nothing, he listened. He then realized that the wind carried snippets of words on it – words that the characters had said before, and words that would be said before the story was over. Crying and laughter rushed through his ears, and the roar of the collapsing castle – a horribly familiar sound to him – deafened everything else, though the castle remained standing ahead of them. The wind's voice pounded in his ears, and it buffeted his body. He saw Lilliana start to lose her footing and steadied her, but he was struggling not to be knocked over by the wind himself as it tossed him a bout.

Lilliana opened her eyes and tried to tell him something, but there was no way he could hear her over the wind, though she was only a few inches from his face. She grabbed his head and pulled it down, then shouted into his ear.

"Everything is moving around, but the spell isn't breaking," she said. "I don't know what's going on. It's like someone is rearranging the spell, tensing the magic to the breaking point, but not actually breaking it."

As soon as she finished speaking, the wind stopped. They almost fell over from the abrupt lack of force, but Derwin managed to keep the both of them upright until Lilliana regained her balance. When they looked up from the ground, they saw a tall woman with long, crimson hair striding toward them purposefully from the direction of the castle.

"Derwin," she said, addressing Derwin firmly, "and Lilliana." Her eyes shifted to Lilliana, who swallowed.

"Who are you?" Derwin asked, his hand on his sword.

"Peace," she said, "I am come to help you escape. My name is Swana. I've come from the Berensian Palace."

"From outside the book!" Lilliana said, her voice heavy with surprise. "But you're not replacing a character! That must be why the magic was twisting around. Did you write yourself in?"

Swana only nodded, then moved on to a different topic. She was obviously unimpressed by her own incredible feat.

"We have no time to lose. There is only one day before Lilliana, Rose, and Iriana will all die."

"How did Auntie and Iriana get involved?" Lilliana asked, wrinkling her brow.

"They discovered how to help people escape from the book, and Hughes put them into an enchanted sleep."

"Hughes?"

"The wizard who wrote this book," Swana said.

"So, how do we get out?" Derwin asked cautiously. The woman intimidated him a little.

"They couldn't tell us before they fell asleep," Swana said. "That's why I entered myself, to discover how to escape from the inside instead of the outside."

"I've been trying to figure that out since I _got_ here!" Derwin cried, a little angrily. He'd been hoping the help from the outside would be actual help and not just another person to be stuck there with him for eternity.

"But I know more than you do about magic, and I've observed the book extensively from the outside," Swana said, unruffled by his outburst. She looked at him closely. "It's the only thing we could do; I had to try something."

Derwin sighed. Lilliana hung her head.

"So you _don't_ know how to get out?" she said, still with some amount of hope.

"Not yet," Swana said, her brow creased. "I'm going to feel out the spell from the inside; there must be a weakness. Hughes didn't plan to trap a sorceress inside the book. He likely used simple spells adequate to entrap the young princess."

With that, she sat down and closed her eyes, and didn't move for the rest of the night. Derwin and Lilliana sat in silence for a while, waiting for her to say something, but the woman was like a statue. Eventually they gave up and lay down to sleep. Sleep, however, was long in coming and fitful when it touched them. Derwin dreamt of the voice again, more urgently than before, and Lilliana had visions of Rose and Iriana, wasting away into dust before her eyes as walls crumbled around them.

* * *

Karl walked down the hallway, dragging his feet a little. He was unenthusiastic about rejoining with the book, which he had left in the sickroom before escorting Iriana back to her chamber and hadn't retrieved since. Waking up that morning, he'd realized that the book had been left unattended all night long, and he hoped Swana hadn't noticed. She'd warned him about letting the book out of his possession for very long, especially with Iriana around – not that the princess had so much as touched the book since she'd arrived.

_Typical Swana, worrying about things that have very little probability of happening,_ he thought, shaking his head. He doubted that the book had been touched since he'd left the room the night before, especially since Gregory had recently been called back to his estate on a minor emergency. No one else had any interest in tinkering about with highly dangerous magical items.

He opened the door of the sickroom and saw Iriana sitting in a chair beside Rose's bed, the book open on her lap. She looked up quickly as he entered, a guilty look on her face.

"Trying your hand at magic-working, or enjoying the story?" he asked, now definitely hoping Swana wouldn't hear of this. She would be livid.

Iriana just stared at him, as if she hadn't heard anything he'd said. Her eyes were oddly unfocused; she was thinking about something.

"Oh!" she cried, eyes widening in realization and snapping onto his gaze with an almost audible pop. "Oh!"

And then her eyes fluttered closed and she passed into unconsciousness. Karl ran forward and managed to catch her before she hit the floor. Her head lolled onto his shoulder comfortably; Karl considered that he could get used to that. Before he could decide what to do properly, Faidn entered the room.

"What did you do to her?" he asked immediately.

"Can I help it if your fiancée falls for me?" Karl quipped, looking over his shoulder with a grin.

Faidn was unamused, as usual.

"I didn't do anything," he insisted, adjusting Iriana's weight in his arms. "I just walked in, she looked at me like I was a ghost, then she said 'Oh!' and passed out."

"She must have figured out how to get people out of the book," Faidn sighed, kneeling beside Karl and taking Iriana from the smaller man's grasp.

"Obviously," Karl said, transferring the woman to Faidn with some relief and shaking his arms out. "But she didn't say anything about it."

"We've got to tell Swana," Faidn said, laying Iriana on another bed carefully. His eyes lingered helplessly on her impassive face for a moment before Karl's irritated comment brought his attention back to the conversation.

"You don't think she's going to find out?" the fairy said, thinking of Swana's likely reaction to hearing that the book had been out of his sight.

Karl picked up the book from where it had fallen on the floor and glowered at it.

"I hate wizards," he said angrily. "They're so selfish and pointless. Honestly, a cursed book? There are far more effective ways to get revenge on someone for a missed invitation – if not get invited to something is a big enough offense to avenge, anyway. Personally, I think Hughes should have just showed up anyway. That's what I do. Much simpler than enchanting a book to kill the king's child, and less likely to backfire, too."

Faidn was only half paying attention to Karl's rampage. His eyes had returned to Iriana, now lying in the bed beside Rose.

"I wonder what she's reliving," he said, thinking of Cameron's death and wincing.

She'd mentioned in passing earlier that morning how much she had adored her much-older brother, and how much she had struggled with his death before she finally came to terms with it. Faidn thought it a minor miracle that she didn't hold resentment for any of the others on that venture, and had actually become great friends with Nre. _I guess it's just who she is,_ he considered, almost smiling before he remembered that she was now in the same predicament as Rose.

"The time around Cameron dying," Karl said, frowning a little in concentration. "I think. I can really only get impressions of thoughts – it's feelings, mostly, that I can detect. She's shocked, appalled, and devastated. I think a messenger might be telling her the news, but..."

"What did you do to her?" Swana asked.

Both men turned around quickly; she'd entered the room without a sound. A heavy frown was set on her face as her eyes flicked from Karl, to the book, to Iriana on the bed. Her gaze rested on Karl with the weight of a night's sleeplessness and a morning's frustrations. Karl was almost cowed, but then his hackles raised.

"I didn't do anything," he protested with annoyance. "Whenever something goes wrong with women, _you two_ always assume it's my fault."

"For good reason," Faidn pointed out.

"What happened?" Swana asked, looking to Faidn for an explanation this time.

Her eyes were stony, and concerned. Faidn lifted his hands in a show of innocence. He gave Karl a pointed look.

"I walked in, she looked up from the book, said 'Oh!', and fell over," Karl summed up.

"Why did she have the book?" Swana asked, calmly, though her eyes examined Karl with stormy electricity.

"It was left here overnight," Karl said, edging around his own blame as much as possible.

"You left it here," Swana corrected flatly, then looked at the floor.

She was silent for over a minute. The two men waited on eggshells for her pronouncement.

"I'm going in," she said finally. "That's the only way. If Karl can't untangle the spell from the outside, and the people outside the book who discover how to break the spell fall asleep, I'll go in and figure it out from the inside."

"What about the war?" Faidn asked, surprised to hear himself mention it.

"I am finished speaking to pillars of iron and stone," she said with a finality that prevented any further questions. "Hand me the book."

Karl gave her the book, and the sorceress opened it to the page that Lilliana and Derwin had reached; the text was still rearranging itself, though less busily than the last time Faidn had looked. Words and sentences slipped from place to place at a more stately pace instead of the frantic, insect-like scurrying of before. She closed her eyes, and the words began to move faster, some of them forming into new words or moving aside for phrases that appeared. She put a hand on the book and moved her lips soundlessly. After a few minutes, the words slowed to their original pace and Swana closed the book.

She handed it to Karl and, without any other final words, vanished.

* * *

**Thoughts?**

Pimpernel Princess**: Mm, stuffing it is, then! --piles onto a plate and hands it over-- Yes, poor wee Rosie. --sigh-- Hm, good speculation. Heh heh, Linna's thoughts seem to echo those of most children. --laugh-- I think a lot of people forget to smile. It's not that they're not... pleasant, or even happy; they just forget to smile. I have one specific friend that comes to mind. --stifles laughter-- He is a man with large angry eyebrows, and he often forgets to smile. However, because of his scary eyebrows, when he doesn't smile... he looks frightening. XP Ahh, I love Karl. And hate him. But mostly love him. WriMo has been pretty good, but I am currently behind. I'm clocking in at around 37,000 words as I write this. x.x --tells Cadmus to behave; gets a palette to the face-- Well, there you have it. XD**

Captain Fantastic**: Oh, no worries. I was throwing it in there mainly for my own amusement. Hey! You don't fail! Your stuff is about 100x better than mine, so if you fail... I'm in a bad way, **_**baby**_**. I'm very pleased that you had this reaction to Rose's scene, even though you already knew what would happen. This makes me feel like I succeeded. --happy smile-- Heh, how generous of you to forgive Derwin. He can't help it that there's no feminism in his world. --grin-- Good luck on your WriMo! You're doing significantly better than I, I see. Uggh. I'm sitting here writing review replies instead of getting to work. .**

Faylinn**: I love Karl, too. --grins sideways at the fiari, who tips her a wink, much to Cadmus' aggravation-- Derwin, a nanny. --chuckles at the thought-- I'll keep that in mind. XD**

EVA**: Oh, that explains it. I was wondering why you hadn't been reviewing. I just thought you had gotten busy and weren't reading anymore… --sad look-- But I'm glad that's not it! Huzzah! All of your insights are wonderfully lovely, and I'd loveto comment on each of them in detail, but I am unfortunately pressed for time. Rest assured that your review brightened my week, and having your thoughtful speculations and analyzing has helped me think about my own characters and story in a different way, as always. **

Mazkeraide**: Same apologies to you, Mazzie; I greatly appreciate the long review, but I thought everyone would be happier if I spent a little less time on review replies in order to ensure that I could put out these two chapters tonight. Yes? Your speculation is brilliant as always. I am contemplating asking you not to review anymore, because you're giving altogether too much away in all of your witty insights. However, it is far too amusing, so I shall let it go on. --grin-- **

**Reviewers get a Christmassy treat of your choice!**


	32. It's All In Your Head

**11 . 12 . 09**

**Thanks to everyone who pointed out the abruptness of Faidn's conclusion in the last chapter. Writing everything all at once had the pro of helping me keep storylines and characters straight and the con of making me rush and jump a bit. Much apologies. That will be fixed at some point when I actually have time or in the rewrite, if/when that occurs. It's good to know you all are keeping a wary eye on what I'm doing. --grin-- **

**Also, I have Constance back. I am happy. --smile--**

**Disclaimer: Swana is mine, but mostly not, and Iriana's appearance is based on a china doll. Seriously. **

**Warning: it's a touch choppy. I took a little time to clean it up, but mostly I'm just posting what I have because otherwise I won't be posting anything at all. Apologies.**

* * *

"And she leaves _us_ to explain everything to everyone," Karl said grumpily after Swana vanished, leaving no trace of her presence in the sickroom. "Of course."

"Leaves _you _to explain," Faidn corrected, but with much less heat than he might have had normally.

His eyes were back on Iriana, drawn in by her paling face and unkempt hair. _Not her, too, _he thought angrily, pacing at the end of the bed; he couldn't bring himself to sit down. Here was yet another person he could not save. He wanted to _do _something.

But there was nothing he could do, so after a few minutes, he sat. The maddening silence, save for the idle flipping of the book's pages by Karl, was enough to drive him slowly insane. As he stared at Iriana, as if hoping he might wake her up by force of will, he reflected he might be going insane. He couldn't tear his eyes off of Iriana, even if he tried. Something like desperation held them there, memorizing everything about her – the curve of her cheek, the shadow on her eyelids, the small scar on her right index finger. He committed every detail to memory, until she was all he could see when he closed his eyes. He didn't want to forget when she looked like if—

Carvin and Nre came in sometime later that day, but Faidn didn't look up.

"Where's Swana?" Carvin asked, peering into the sickroom. "We're starting another meeting, and I thought—"

"Iriana!" Nre cried, rushing to the other side of the bed and kneeling beside the prone figure of her friend.

Faidn didn't move; his eyes were fixed on Iriana's face. Nre took Iriana's hand and rubbed it unconsciously, peering desperately at Iriana's pale face and back at Karl.

"What happened?" she asked, looking to Faidn and Karl in turn.

Faidn gave no indication that he had heard. Karl tossed the book and caught it again, giving it a distasteful look.

"She obviously discovered how to break the spell," Karl said, raising his eyebrows at Nre. "She fell asleep like Rose and is having horrible dreams like Rose."

"Don't give me that—" Nre started hotly.

"Nre," Carvin said, quietly.

The woman sighed, dispelling the remainder of the rude sentence and starting again.

"Can you do anything?" she asked.

"That's what I've been trying to do all along, if you'll recall," Karl said testily, opening the book once more and frowning.

"Karl," Carvin said warningly.

Karl gave him a very disrespectful look, then buried his nose in the book and didn't speak again. Carvin looked at Karl's bowed head distrustfully for a moment, then walked over to his wife. Faidn on one side of Iriana and Nre on the other, the princess looked for a moment to be a picturesque corpse, but Carvin shook that thought away as soon as it struck him. Nre said nothing, but when her eyes met his, anxiety and exhaustion was apparent in her drawn face. He gently disentangled her hands from Iriana's and drew her to her feet. Eyes still locked onto his, Nre suddenly shuddered and fell into his strong embrace. He wrapped his arms firmly around her, wishing to protect her from everything; Lilliana's disappearance, Rose, Iriana, the war, his own neglect...

He felt her relax in his grip, letting out a shuddering sigh into his shoulder. They stayed like that for a moment, until they almost forgot anyone else was there. A cough that may or may not have been intentional (from Karl) reminded them that they were not alone. Nre pulled back slightly, and a silent conversation passed between their eyes. She glanced at Faidn; he looked strange. Carvin followed her eyes, then looked back to her. She gave a miniscule nod, then took a step back.

"I've got to go look after the children," she said quietly, glancing over at Faidn again, who hadn't moved.

"I love you," Carvin said, nodding at her and catchign her hand as it fell..

"I love you," she replied, wrapping her fingers around his for a split second of support, then leaving the room.

Faidn still didn't look up, even when Carvin came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Faidn—" he started.

"Don't—say it," Faidn said.

He was taking in the shape of a single curl – how it reflected the light like honey. How it lay across her shoulder in a totally careless fashion. How it looked alive.

"There's nothing you could have done," Carvin said.

Faidn stiffened.

"This happened while I was in the meeting this morning," he said in a low voice.

"She would've—"

"_Don't," _Faidn said, standing up so fast he almost knocked over the chair,_ "_say it would've happened some other way."

His back was still to Carvin, who hadn't taken a step back, even after Faidn stood up.

"You can't save everyone," Carvin said levelly.

"I can't save _anyone,_" Faidn said, clenching his fist and glaring at the curl. Ever since this catastrophe had started, he'd been completely _useless_.

"It's not your job," Carvin said.

"She's going to be my _wife,_" Faidn said sharply, whirling around and looking at Carvin, just a few inches from the man's face.

Carvin was surprised by the unrestrained viciousness in his friend's eyes. Fear and pain, however, were evident in the midst of the feral anger.

"Don't you think," Faidn continued, when Carvin said nothing, "that I have some responsibility for her safety? That I have some _right _to save her, some... justification for wanting to jump into the book myself and kill Hughes personally?"

His voice was rough and ragged. Even Karl looked up from the book to see what was happening.

"But you can't," Carvin said. "You have to trust Swana."

Faidn closed his eyes. Carvin thought he was going to start yelling, but the man seemed to collapse in on himself.

"I know," he said, his voice exhausted and dead. "I know."

He sat back down slowly, his eyes moving to her half clenched hand. He started memorizing her pale skin and delicate fingers.

"Swana's going to get them out," Carvin said.

Faidn didn't reply.

* * *

Warm golden sunlight streamed through the spacious bay window, leaving a large patch of summer on the clay pink carpet. The carpet stretched to all corners of the room, covering the cold stone beneath it and giving the room an air of softness and femininity. This notion was further confirmed by the dainty rocking chair, painted white and draped with a lace covering the same color as the carpet. Small pink and grey-blue flowers were painted along the arms and over the seat of the chair, the hard work of many hours; the queen of Grendath, Queen Thyatira _herself,_ had painted the chair while she was pregnant with Princess Iriana, the owner of the beauteous room.

The other furniture in the room was painted white, with matching flowers painted along the flat surfaces. All the furnishings were also tastefully decorated with lace in blue and pink. On the walls were several paintings of famous places in Grendath, all of them in watercolor and depicting the location in the bloom of spring. The painting of the northern port showed indistinct seagulls circling crystalline waters, with boats docking and launching serenely. The entrance to the Western Wood was painted with the leaves and branches so fluid they almost seemed to by undulating in the afternoon light. If you looked closely enough, it almost looked like the painter had given each tree a face, but it took several minutes of searching to find them.

Iriana would often stare at that painting and imagine what each tree was like, based on its face. One of them looked very happy, and Iriana decided that it was the youngest tree, always ready to play a trick on the fairies or humans that wandered too close. There was one that looked melancholy; Iriana thought it must have had a friend that was chopped down for firewood, and it was the tree that would make you fall asleep underneath its branches and never wake up. There was one that looked angry, and Iriana decided that the fallen tree had been its friend, too, but instead of putting humans to sleep, it was the tree that threw branches onto unwary travelers, knocking them off their horses – who would then spook and run – leaving the travelers to try to make it out of the woods alone.

Of course, they would never make it.

Iriana, despite her cheery disposition, was a little melodramatic, and had a healthy respect for magic. She was at the age where she was just starting to grow out of fairy tales, but wasn't quite ready to admit that they were all wrong. After all, she'd seen fairies and sorcerers before, at important meetings or balls, so she knew magic existed. It was a fine line between story and reality, and she wasn't about to assume something wasn't real when it was. Who knew what sort of consequences there might be for that sort of thing? At least in the stories, it was always the doubters who had the harshest punishments.

Iriana, on that afternoon, was sprawled on her floor with her dolls, playing out an elaborate scene from one such fairy tale. She was so intent on this that she barely noticed the knock on her door. It wasn't until the second knock that she started and looked up with wide eyes.

"Princess?" came the inquiring voice from outside the door.

She hurriedly gathered up her dolls and dumped them onto her fluffy bed, then sat down at her neat, white desk and opened her Historical Chronicles of Grendath to a random page.

"Come in," she said easily, flipping the page and looking extremely interested in the First Northern Invasion.

A boy just older than she slipped into the room and cleared his throat. Iriana turned around, recognized her friend in his smart messenger's uniform, and smiled.

"Daniel!" she said with a surprised chuckle. "I didn't recognize your voice! You sound—" she stopped mid sentence when she saw his eyes; they were red, and his jaw was quivering. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

She jumped off her stool and rushed over to him, concern radiating from her child's eyes.

"I'm not crying," Daniel said, his voice saying something else entirely. He cleared his throat and swallowed.

"Don't be silly," she said. "Of course you're crying. What happened?"

She reached to wipe a tear off his cheek, but he batted her hand away and scowled.

"It's Prince Cameron," he said.

"What's the matter? What happened?" Iriana demanded immediately, her imagination flickering to the worst possible scenarios. He had broken an important law. He was going off to war. He was lost.

"He—he," Daniel stammered, eyes downcast. "—died."

"He—died?" she stuttered, blinking rapidly.

Somehow, she had not imagined that her brother was able to die.

"He was killed in battle," Daniel said through gritted teeth.

Tears were leaking from his eyes, despite his best efforts.

"Who was he fighting?" Iriana asked, bewildered. "I thought he was on a hunting trip! Was he ambushed?"

"Someone was trying to kill Princess Nre," Daniel said. "He saved her."

Iriana vaguely remembered the princess of Berensia. She and Cam were friends. They wrote letters to each other a lot. So he hadn't been hunting. He'd been going to see her? She shook her head; that was not the most important thing right now.

"You're sure?" she asked, tears starting to fill her eyes even as she tried to hold them back. "Sure that he's dead?"

Daniel nodded.

"I—saw him," he said, pausing a bit, then taking a deep breath and looking his friend in the eye. "You're the Crown Princess, now."

"But Cam," she said weakly, tears trailing down her cheeks as she gave up trying to be brave. "Cam was going to be—he was going to be king, and I was going to be his princess forever!"

She felt like a child, but she didn't care. She wanted her big brother to come and pick her up, twirl her around, and play dolls with her. She wanted to practice fencing with him. He was the only one who didn't yell at her if she was a little overenthusiastic with the foil. She was crying in earnest now, smashing her hands into her eyes, trying to shove the tears back in – trying to make everything go backward. She wasn't even breathing.

"He promised!" she choked, sobbing. "He—he—"

She couldn't push out any more words, and blackness crept in around her vision. She fainted.

* * *

Grass licked her arm with tongues of cats – rough and papery and slim. A hundred thousand cats, serenely tasting her arms and legs and fingers. Rose opened her eyes, and they weren't cats; they were blades of grass after all. The grass was dried, but it wasn't brown. She blinked once, and realized the grass was made of stone. Stone grass.

Stone grass?

Rose shook her head slowly. This wasn't right. She hadn't thought of stone grass. She'd thought of cats. Whenever she thought of something, it appeared. She thought of cats, but there were no cats. She didn't think of stone grass, yet the grass was made of stone. She sat up and tried to think – a difficult task when her mind was stuck in a dream.

The world was different – it was like nothing she'd seen or imagined. Stone grass waved in the light breeze for as far as she could see. A line of trees lay to the west. She stood up unsteadily, her feet heavy on the ground, and turned about. Stone blades turned to powder beneath her bare feet, but she didn't feel them. Nor did she feel the wind, or the sun.

A town was barely visible to the south. More grass stretched to the eastern horizon. A castle was north of her, barely ten minute's walk. The castle was the same color stone as the grass. The gardens in front of the castle were filled with stone flowers. Everything was stone. She thought she remembered something about flowers of stone, of a woman who slept, of a plague – but the memory was a thought of a daydream of another world's nightmare. She couldn't pry it free from the grip of haze and confusion.

She walked out of the grass and onto the path, following it south, toward the town. She didn't feel the dirt under her feet; it was almost like floating. Floating quickly. She was barely moving her feet at a walking pace, yet she was flying at a speed that would rival a horse's trot. She spread her arms and smiled into the heatless sunshine.

Then she saw a group of five people – one man taller and broader than the rest, one man shorter but muscled, one woman tall and haughty looking, one woman average height and with a visage more friendly, and the third woman tall, redheaded, and sharp. They were talking amongst themselves – all but the redhead. Rose frowned. She thought she almost might remember them, except the redhead, but she didn't know how. They weren't anyone she knew, yet she still recognized them – maybe.

"Look at the grass, Derwin," the haughty woman said, sweeping her hand to encapsulate all the fields around Rose.

It was apparent that Rose was invisible. This didn't bother Rose so much as the name did. Derwin. Derwin. _Derwin. Who is Derwin? I know him, but I don't know him._

And then it all made sense for one crazy moment, and she realized just exactly what must have happened. She knew who Derwin was and why she was dreaming, and she knew precisely what had to be done.

"Derwin!" she cried, rushing at the shorter man – though she knew it had to be useless, she also knew she had to try.

The man didn't blink, even as she came right up to his face, walking backward and keeping pace with him as he walked. Her feet skimmed the ground without feeling.

"Derwin! Derwin!" She screamed as loud as she could, wishing she could break the spell, wishing there was something she could do.

And then, miraculously, he jerked his head toward her, like he might have heard something. She tried to grab his arm, but her hands passed through his limb like it was air – like she was a ghost. The thought gripped her that she might have died, might have become a ghost, but she pushed that away and focused on Derwin instead.

"Derwin," she said, gritting her teeth and concentrating as much as she could on making him listen, on making her words slice through the barrier that separated them.

He moved again, and looked around. The haughty woman looked over her shoulder, and the redheaded woman looked at him.

"What is it?" the haughty one asked, a little nervously.

"I don't know," the man replied. "I just thought I heard something."

Rose opened her mouth to tell him what he needed to do.

And then the sun rose, and she was pulled from a dream into a nightmare.

* * *

Derwin stopped moving and squinted into the air, listening hard. It was the voice from his dream – the one that reminded him so much of Rose. He could have sworn he heard the voice calling his name, but now everything was silent. He supposed he had imagined it, in his anxiety about the hours to come. He shook his head at Swana and Lilliana's questioning looks, and they continued on.

They passed endless plains of grey, brittle grass in silence. The blades rattled like bones, a foreboding sound that Derwin had heard many times before. It always signaled the beginning of the end: another loop of the book completed, another three women to watch die before his eyes.

_But not this time,_ he told himself, looking at Swana. Something about her inspired confidence, even though when Derwin asked her if she'd found anything that morning when he woke up, the only reply she had given him was a tired shake of her head. They'd started the last day's trek in silence. Francis and Deborah had even fallen oddly silent, content to follow them wherever they went.

Derwin considered the possibility that Swana had written out their dialogue when she wrote herself in, seeing that it was mixed up beyond recognition. The only conversation was an occasional instruction from Swana to Lilliana about magic for the battle against Roger – telling her a spell to use or correcting one that she was using.

The castle seemed to come much faster than Derwin remembered, and soon they were pushing open the gate, grunting with the weight of the solid stone. Once they entered the courtyard, a petrified garden lay frozen before them. Stone leaves waved sluggishly when the breeze gusted, many of them snapping off their weak, stony stems and falling with a clatter onto the stone pathway and breaking. They walked along the path, trying not to touch the plants, but failing; shattered leaves littered the pathway behind them.

They pushed again on a wedged, stone door, this time the grand double doors marking the main entrance to the palace. They crossed the threshold of the abandoned building, and it was even more unsettling than the lifeless garden. Everything was stone. Where there should have been color and decorations were lumps of rock, some of them recognizable as the objects they used to be, but most of them worn smooth by the wind whistling through stone bars on windows.

Their feet crunched on stone cobwebs that had fallen from the upper corners of the corridors and rooms. The tapestries that had once shown scenes of battle and triumph were now smooth plates of rock hanging on pockmarked stone walls. Torches in flame had been turned to stone, the grey fire looking almost alive and reflecting light dully like weathered grey gems – a sign of the magic at work.

Lilliana put her hand in her pocket and clasped the Natalie Locket, heart pounding. The castle was completely silent and so colorless that even their brown traveling clothes seemed lush in comparison to the amorphous grey.

"You remember what to do?" Derwin asked her.

She nodded tightly. They'd explained the plan to Swana, who had made a few minor changes but otherwise said it seemed like a good idea. They had both felt a little proud after that – though that emotion now seemed very far away as they ascended the stairs to the tower where Marsha lay sleeping. Lilliana gripped the locket tightly with her hand. Derwin's mind and body were tensed, ready to spring into a sprint at any moment.

According to the book, they would reach the top of the stairs, and Marsha's room would be the second room on the right. The Dray would be standing in the hallway, a forlorn statue of a wizard who had been turned to stone while trying to save Marsha and the country from the horrible curse. Julia would put the locket around the wizard's neck, but the curse wouldn't lift, and then the walls would begin to crumble.

They would all start to run, forced to leave Marsha behind. Julia would fall on the stairs, and Deborah would stop to help her up, and the ceiling above the stairs would collapse over them, barely missing Francis and Derwin. They would make it to the outside of the palace, escaping only just with their lives. Roger would appear then, and there would be a duel. Derwin would almost defeat him, and then Francis would distract him long enough for Derwin to deliver the final blow. Roger's magic would dissipate, then, and return everything to the state it had been in before the curse of stone was encroaching on the land.

That was according to the book.

They reached the top step and continued along the corridor. When they reached the second door on the right, Lilliana looked at Derwin. She sort of smiled. Derwin sort of smiled back, then took a deep breath – and changed the story. The entire plan hinged on this moment, on what would happen when he took that first intentional step out of line. Before, the story had been changing around them; now, they were manipulating _it,_ in a way much more important than an extra word or two in a conversation. As his foot hit the floor, taking a step toward Marsha's door when he was supposed to stop at the statue, he felt seasick. Incredibly seasick. The ground seemed to pitch beneath him.

He didn't stop walking. He'd been expecting that much; that's what normally happened when he changed a conversation. However, this time, it didn't stop rocking. The ground rolled and roiled beneath him, trying to throw him off balance. He stumbled a little, but took another long stride and reached the door, his stomach curling sickly with the unsteady motion. He put his hand on the latch and then opened it.

A small room greeted his eyes, startlingly bright. The furnishings had not yet turned completely to stone; rich brown wood, and faded red cloth jumped out in his vision in contrast to the lifeless grey of the castle, though the dressers and carpet was starting to be tinged with that grey. The stone was edging in from the hallway, slowly encroaching on the ring of life that surrounded the bed in the corner. On the bed was a woman with blonde hair and a sweet smile; she appeared to be dreaming peacefully, undisturbed by the harrowing curse.

The book seemed to be somewhat forgiving of his missteps up to that point. Now, there was a loud crack that came from somewhere beyond the castle, above the castle or beneath it, Derwin couldn't tell. The entire castle seemed to shake with the sound – a noise that sounded eerily like a thundering laugh.

* * *

**Okay, so how bad was it? --steeling self for a barrage of constructive criticisms--**

Faylinn**: 30: Nope, you're not confused. --smile-- 31: Holy sweet rolls, good point. I'll stick a lamp by the clock or something. Thanks for that. --facepalm-- Yes, he's talking about Nre there. I know, poor Rose indeed. You should have seen me when rose calmly approached me and quietly told me her entire life story. And then I had to translate it into a vaguely G-rated story. Do you know how many times I wrote and rewrote that particular section? Garr. Yes, it was mentioned before. But that was before the more recent hiatus, so it's completely understandable if you forgot. Heh. It's in the chapter where Swana shows up for the first time and basically explains who Hughes is and why he made the book. Swana is awesome. I love her. And I love her more in the coming chapters. --smile--**

Lillian Marie Evans Potter**: Aw, thanks. --grin-- I know! I'm having a lot of fun with them.**

Captain Fantastic**: 30: Denise was the dog, remember? --smile-- 31: Austen hasn't written anything in forever, and her stuff still wins. --grin-- Wow, I'm flattered by your jealousy. --embarrassed smile-- Ha! Yes, write a fanfiction of my fanfiction. That would be spiffy! --is probably mostly kidding, because that seems to paint you as a loser, and you're not-- Oh, I appreciate this muchly. You rock. Ha, agreed about Swana and Naima. I feel like there would have been pivotal differences between them, but it would have been okay. --smile-- Rose's stuff is hard to write. --cringe-- I'm glad you like (?) it. Karl cracks me up, period. The source of the animosity will likely remain a mystery unless **Lobuck** picks up SHOE again. Caffeine, oh **Captain**. --grin-- Heh heh, you are probably right on that last point.**

EVA**: 30: So many questions! And I'm sorry to say that a lot of them involving this particular storyline will not be resolved; they were only Asides, after all, and not a complete story. While they tell sections of a different story, the focus remains on how that story pertains to the MAIN story. 31: You're spot on with all your deductions except the last; remember that when a person is sucked into the book (i.e. Lilliana) their body goes with them. So, he is physically in the book, like Lilliana and now Swana, through magic. Rose (and now Iriana) are in the book only in their minds, because they discovered how to get people out of the book. See? All of your thoughts about Karl are very correct. --shakes head-- Silly Karl.**

Pimpernel Princess**: 30: I'm glad things make sense now. I was hoping so. 31: Iriana and Faidn together was fun to write, too. So I'm glad you enjoyed it. --smile-- Faidn is... agh, I had all their ages mapped out, but now I forget. I believe he's... 32? And Iriana is 25. Or 24. I don't remember. I need to think all of this through at some point and re-deduce, but at the moment, that's all I have. --apologetic smile-- Have some cookies!**

**Reviewers get a new CD. What artist?**


	33. Staying Alive

**4 . 1 . 10**

**My apologies for taking so long to update. My life has been all kinds of crazy this holiday season. Truthfully, I've just been in no real mood to do much of anything since my grandfather died on the 22nd. But with a bit of prodding from **Lobuck** (and the generous use of her laptop, since Constance is still my only computer and only works whenever she feels like it) I'm back with another chapter. Oh, and also -- I thought you should know: there are 38 chapters total.

* * *

**

Iriana gasped and opened her eyes. The bright sunlight of her child bedroom faded instantly into black. For a moment, she thought she had woken up in the sickroom, but then she realized it was far too dark to be the sickroom. She sat up and wiped her eyes free of tears, gazing around the world and trying to make sense of it as one does after waking from a horrific nightmare. The land around her was dark and indistinct, like a dungeon. She hugged her knees and tried to take deep breaths, to calm herself down and think.

She wasn't as upset by the memory as she was at her inability to figure out what exactly was going on and what she could do about it. She started at the beginning. She'd discovered how to break the story's spell, and she'd fallen asleep – like Rose.

_Is Rose here with me, then? s_he thought, peering around curiously.

The stone walls were slightly damp, reflecting the dim torchlight wetly but betraying no other presence in the dank confines of this underground prison.

_He must be keeping us separate, _she decided. She sat there in the silence for a moment longer, desperately trying to shake the feeling that something horrible was going to happen at any moment. She could feel threads caressing her arms, sidling up and up. She looked down, fully expecting to see nothing there, as there had never been anything there except for the one time by the window.

Thin string coiled up to her elbows, headless snakes of jet black. She screamed, brushing the string furiously. Unlike before, she could touch the string; it now moved when she shoved it back. However, the more she pulled and pushed it off, the faster it coiled around her. Soon she couldn't keep up with it, and it began to twine up her legs and arms, both. Panicking, she pulled great handfuls of black wherever she could reach, but they became thick cords, and she was soon struggling against a binding far too tight for her to loosen.

She strained and pushed with all her might, tears of fear and frustration falling onto the relentless strings.

"Move! Let me go!" she begged aloud, her voice echoing uncannily in the corridor.

The ropes didn't move, and she was soon drawn back to her memories; Cameron's funeral.

* * *

The days were running together in a stream of spilled ink, hopelessly staining the parchment of Rose's life. She couldn't tell one day from the next, nor did she want to. Only Sarah kept her alive; the fierce, protective spirit of the older girl was barely enough to keep her from losing herself entirely to the beatings from the Master and the burning eyes of the Master's son. Sarah didn't know where Rose had come from, and Rose had never told her, but she didn't need to know. Sarah knew that Rose needed to be protected, so she did everything that she could.

Until one day, the Other Man arrived. He called himself Nathaniel. Sarah said she had a feeling about him. Rose didn't ask what type of feeling; she didn't say much anymore, just listened to whatever Sarah said. Even though she didn't say anything back, it still made her feel almost like she could think to care again, when Sarah would talk to her. The other slaves ignored her. She was constantly in trouble with the Master, and they all knew the Master's son had his eye on her, so they found it most prudent to pretend that she didn't exist.

Nathaniel stayed in the house with his slave, a soft little boy named Taylor. Rose avoided them, keeping to her chores in the stable as much as she could. The smell of horses was as close to the smell of home as she'd ever had. Their wide brown eyes, whiskery, nuzzling noses, and deep sighs gave her an inexplicable peace. The Master and his son didn't like the smell of horses, so the stable was the only place she could be sure to keep out of their sight.

There, she was almost always alone. She would brush the horses for hours, until all eight of them shone like the horses of the royal procession that stamped through the streets once a year, on the king's birthday. She would clear the stables all day long, until their floors were pillowed with sawdust, and the smell of foreign trees lingered powerfully in the air. The smell of the sawdust would mingle with the smell of horses, and sometimes, it almost made Rose smile.

However, she was not always permitted to work in the stable. She was often relegated to kitchen work, especially late at night. She would spend hours carefully washing, peeling, and slicing all the fruits and vegetables for the next day, starting at the slightest sound; sometimes the Master's son would find her there. She tried to hurry, but her hands were shaking, and she would always cut something sloppily. And, if anything was done in a less than exacting fashion, then servant in charge of the kitchens would have her lashed.

It was during this chore that Rose was interrupted late one night, and she jumped so violently that she nearly cut the tip of her finger off. It was Taylor. Rose looked at him, then looked quickly back to the vegetables. She cursed her quivering fingers as she tried to slice a stalk of celery into paper thin slices. Taylor had given her a lot of looks since he'd arrived, and Rose wasn't ready to resign herself to another one yet. Men were all the same. Nathaniel had been staring, too, but she thought he might be a little above the Master's son. He seemed more proper. His slave had seemed proper, too, but she didn't trust propriety and manners to save her tonight. She didn't trust anything to save her anymore – not even herself.

"Rose," Taylor said, and his voice was odd.

Rose paused in her work, but didn't respond with anything but a tight nod.

"Come with me," Taylor said, walking up beside her and putting a hand on her arm.

Just a simple touch. Like the Master's son. Terror and fury surged through her, a survival instinct roaring to life where she thought everything had died. She wrenched away from the surprised slave and held the knife in front of her. Her heart was pounding erratically, and she barely trusted herself to speak.

"Don't touch me," she said.

Her voice was soft and meek, shuddering with her strumming heartbeat, but she had spoken. Taylor looked taken aback at Rose's abrupt reaction. He took a step toward her, opening his mouth to speak again, but Rose pointed the knife. The tip was vibrating, indicative of her still shaking hands, but she didn't lower the weapon.

"Stay back," she said.

She didn't know what else to say. It was taking the entirety of her courage not to put the knife down.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Taylor said carefully, putting his hands in front of him with the palms up, showing that he was unarmed and defenseless.

It was only then that Rose realized she was probably stronger than this willowy little boy. That thought gave her a bit more courage. A piece of celery slipped off the knife and toppled almost soundlessly to the dirty floor. Rose's eyes were fixed on Taylor's hands. She had learned never to look a man in the eye. Looking at the boy's hands, though, allowed her to see his facial expressions and other motions out of the corners of her eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Taylor repeated, and his voice was very soft and soothing. "Nathaniel and I are leaving, and we want to take you with us." He paused, allowing that to sink in, then continued. "We come from a country where there are no slaves. I'm not really his slave. I'm his friend. I've been watching how they treat you here, and – I want you to come with us. I want you to be free."

Rose didn't say anything for a very long time. The knife still pointed at Taylor, his hands remained a testament of his good will, and the night grew ever darker out the half closed window. A thousand million thoughts and memories bullied her mind and heart, pushing and tugging and yelling for her to do one thing or another.

Men were all alike. They were rude, brutish, conniving, deceitful, lusty, betraying, selfish, and arrogant. Years of experiences had taught her this, and over the years it had only been reinforced. She knew men. She avoided them whenever possible and obeyed them when she couldn't avoid them. Struggles ended in pain, of one sort or another. She didn't want to go anywhere with two men.

Taylor had said that he wanted her to be free. Free. She had never been free, not once in her life. She didn't know what she would do if she was free. She didn't even know who she was. Who would she be if she were free? She couldn't imagine a life without slavery or oppression, and she automatically ruled out things she couldn't imagine.

Imagination had saved her once. It had kept her from becoming this shell sooner. It was when she stopped imagining that she stopped living. Maybe she should try to imagine again – try to imagine a world where she saved the day. Maybe she could imagine a world where she smiled every once in a while, and no one would beat her.

The last time she lived in a world where she smiled, she had been hurt worse than anything she had ever before felt. It was better to live with a pain she knew, a pain she could understand, than a pain she couldn't. She could predict the pain of slavery. She knew what it felt like to be whipped, beaten, and worse. When they walked toward her with that look in their eyes, she knew exactly what to expect. She knew when and where it would hurt, how much it would hurt, and how long the pain would last. She knew in what position to put her body when she lay on the floor to sleep each night – the position that would keep her from feeling the most pain. She was intimately connected to this pain. To experience something unknown, something worse, was something she could not do.

Aerin used to say that there was a world better than this for them, somewhere. He said there was a country called Berensia, all the way on the other side of world, where there were no slaves. He said he'd learned about it in school. There were no slaves, the king and queen were fair, all the fairies were good, and there were unicorns by the lakes. He'd told her once that if they found Berensia, everything would be perfect. He said she would be safe there, and they would be happy. If they could make it there. He talked about wagon trains, how they could hide in one and stow away all the way there. He talked about working for the gypsies in exchange for passage. She could care for their horses, and he could be in their shows. He'd said there were a hundred thousand ways to get there, if only they could find the perfect opportunity.

The perfect opportunity.

"What country are you from?" Rose asked.

"Berensia," Taylor said.

Rose dropped the knife with a loud clatter and looked up into Taylor's eyes. They were icy blue, but they were sincere and hopeful. Taylor didn't even flinch when the knife came to land dangerously close to his feet. He bored into Rose's eyes, trying to search for the answer in their depths.

The perfect opportunity.

"I'll come," Rose said.

"Then we have to hurry," Taylor said, snapping into action and pulling the knapsack off his back. "Nathaniel's waiting for us in the stable. We need food for the trip."

Rose wordlessly helped Taylor fill his bag, and they both ran toward the stable. As they ran, something strange began to happen. The ground began to pitch beneath Rose's feet and she stumbled. Nre ran on, as if nothing had happened.

_Wait, I didn't know Taylor was Nre yet, _Rose thought, confused, and then she blinked and realized she was thinking. She wasn't reliving the memory anymore. She looked down and realized that she was herself again, not a thirteen year old girl. The ground was rocking and bucking so hard that Rose fell to her hands and knees; she gripped the grass with her hands, almost afraid she'd be thrown off the earth entirely and settle among the stars.

She looked around, and she realized then that the air around her was flickering. She squinted at it, trying to see what it was that was disappearing and reappearing with the speed and vacillation of a hummingbird's wing. It was a difficult process, with the ground tossing her about, but she eventually recognized what it was; a room was flitting in and out of existence around her. Walls, window, bed, and furniture were laid out around her in a typical, almost boring fashion.

As she was trying to figure out what to do, the picture suddenly clicked into place, and she was suddenly on her hands on knees on the floor of the room instead of the dewy night grass of Ellespeth. The ground wasn't pitching anymore, and she stood up quickly. A glance at the bed confirmed her suspicion that this was Marsha's room. As before, when she had entered the story somehow, she couldn't feel anything. She heard something in the hallway outside the room and turned toward the door. A moment later, Derwin burst into it, staggering like he was walking on a boat for the first time. He stumbled past her – no, _through_ her – steadying himself barely on the bed.

Rose did the first thing that came to her mind; she ran to the bed and, after a moment's hesitation, lay down on it, her body melding with Marsha's: finger to finger, toe to toe. She closed her eyes and hoped with all her might that whatever magic had brought her here would do her one last favor.

_I wish I was Marsha.

* * *

_

Since Faidn's lapse into silence and staring, Karl had become increasingly vocal. Having nothing better to do, now that Swana was handling the spell, he narrated the changes she was making as she made them.

"They made it up the stairs," he droned. "Splendid. Good to know they can still walk. Ah, here's the moment of truth—and there goes Derwin off to the right. He opens the chamber door, stumbles around like a blind monkey, and picks up Marsha. How does he think he's going to carry her when he can barely walk? That's what I'd like to know. And now they're—by the left!"

Faidn, his head pillowed next to Iriana's arm, didn't respond. Karl had been making many similar exclamations all day.

"It looks like wee Rosie took a walk," Karl said. Underneath the jest was a hint of concern, however.

Faidn picked his head up and looked toward the bed where Rose had been lying. She was gone.

"Where'd she go?" Faidn asked, standing up in an instant and striding over to Karl.

"Search me," Karl said flippantly, squinting at the book. "It—oh, there she is."

He pointed at a section of the page, and Faidn bent down to read it, but then all the words suddenly spiked and joined together like a spiderweb of ink across the pages. The ink lines moved around, a kaleidoscope of black on the page. Karl touched the ink and whispered something, but his spell didn't have any effect on the suddenly unreadable ink. He flipped the pages, and they were all like that.

"Well, it seems that Rose jumping in there has royally messed things up," Karl said grimly, sounding extremely disgruntled with the world at large. "I won't be able to help at all, now. I hope Swana knows what she's doing."

"She does," Faidn said, heaving a sigh and running a hand through his head. "She does."

"You sound _awfully _convinced," Karl said sardonically.

"She will," Faidn said, sparing a glance at Iriana. "She has to."

"People don't always do with they have to do," Karl said nonchalantly, thumbing through the now-useless pages of the book.

"Shut up," Faidn said tiredly, his head in his hands.

_She has to. She just has to.

* * *

_

At the harrowing noise, Derwin broke into a run, though the floor was still tossing beneath him. He fell against Marsha's bed and scooped her limp form into his arms, allowing her head to come to rest on his shoulder and holding her small body close to his own.

"Derwin!" Lilliana cried from the hallway. "Hurry!"

Derwin stumbled out the door and almost ran into Swana, who was holding Lilliana's hands away from the Dray with difficulty. Both women seemed to be having trouble keeping their footing as well, though Francis and Deborah, standing off to the side, weren't having any problems. Those two were still following the book, unlike the other three.

Swana and Lilliana were straining with all their might to keep the Natalie Locket from touching the statue and setting off the castle's collapse. As soon as they saw him with Marsha, Swana let go and Lilliana practically threw the locket around the sad wizard's head. Neither of them waited to see if the locket landed in the right place. They were already running down the stairs.

Derwin ran after them down the hallway, but skidded to a stop at the head of the stairs. He could hardly walk on a level floor; the stairs looming in front of him sent his heart into his throat. Swana and Lilliana didn't notice his plight. They were having trouble descending the stairs themselves, though they didn't bear the added burden of an unconscious figure in their arms. Francis and Deborah were having no difficulty at all, but neither did they stop to help the others.

He could hear the foreboding cracks in the stone castle beginning to form and set loose chunks of walls as he tried to descend the first step. It took an agonizing two seconds to make the step down without losing his footing on the shifting stairs. The others were already a quarter of the way down. He looked down at Marsha and was shocked to see a pair of brown eyes looking back at him. The back of his mind registered that this woman was not Marsha; her hair was brown.

"Y—" he spluttered, but the woman just wrenched free of his grip and dropped to the ground.

She seemed to know exactly was was going on and grabbed his hand, practically flying down the stairs. Dragged along by this woman who was not Marsha, Derwin half-fell-half-ran down the stairs. The ceiling began to crumble above them, and bits of rock started to fall around them, battering their heads and shoulders and slipping under their feet. For a horrifying moment, Derwin thought they weren't going to make it.

Then they were running into Swana at the bottom of the stairs and all of them, all _six_ of them, were bolting down the corridors and out the front door, into the blazing sunlight. The grass and dirt beneath their feet didn't stop rocking when they left the castle, and several of them almost toppled into the bushes as they rushed through the garden. The castle began to crumble in earnest, then, the walls collapsing and caving in on themselves as the group tried to escape the devastation.

The sound of stone on stone crashing into the ground was one Derwin was familiar with. This time, however, there were no screams. No one was trapped inside.

Once they pushed through the gates, they collectively slowed to a stop, panting and looking around at each other to make sure everyone had made it out alive. Everyone was there. The ground was still shaking beneath them, now with the falling castle adding to the disorienting motion. They fought to keep their balance, grabbing onto Francis's bulk for support, since he wasn't having much difficulty. The man stared with blank interest at nothing in particular.

The ground shaking was no longer the only evidence of the book's disapproval of their actions; Lilliana was turning into a child and back again at a dizzying rate, and Derwin, looking down at himself, saw that he was doing the same thing. The woman who wasn't Marsha was turning into Marsha and then into herself, as well. Swana glanced at her three companions who were changing in appearance every few seconds, then ignored them and drew a small dagger. Her eyes darted around, narrowed, waiting for Roger to appear.

"Who—are you?" Derwin asked the woman. He thought he knew, but it was too impossible...

She looked at him and smiled incredibly. It lit up the entirety of the accursed world. _Wow, _was all he could think.

"You helped me," she said; her voice was satisfied, like she always knew he would, like she knew it was just a matter of time.

"Aunt Rose!" Lilliana cried, grabbing the woman's hand desperately. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Rose said, her voice smooth and high, then warm and friendly as she switched appearances. "How did you get here, Linna?"

Her name was Rose. This was Rose. _This can't be Rose._

"I wished myself in," Lilliana explained, her sentence spliced between Julia's voice and her own, an alarming combination.

Derwin wasn't even paying attention to Lilliana. He was looking closely at Rose – as much as he could with her constantly flickering back and forth from Marsh to herself. She did look sort of familiar, in the way of old friends not often seen: in the way of a man come back after years of war when he'd left as a boy.

"Be ready," Swana called. "Roger is coming."

Derwin jerked his attention from Rose and back to the situation at hand. Swana had warned them that Hughes would likely change the strength of Roger's attack to make up for the additional people, and in revenge for changing the book. Lilliana began to recall the spells Swana had taught her, frowning in concentration.

"What do I do?" Rose asked, looking to Derwin, then Swana.

"Can you fight?" Derwin asked.

"I can shoot a bow," she said.

"You can shoot a bow," Swana said, looking at her. "Aim carefully, and you will be helpful."

Before Derwin could ask where the bow was going to come from, Swana was pulling out a bow and quiver from the pack on her back that Derwin had hardly realized was there. He was sure it could not have possibly fit in the pack, but there wasn't time to think of it. As Rose took the bow from Swana, Roger materialized in their midst in a swirl of glittering black mist.

* * *

**Another cliffy? Ay-yi-yi. I never knew I even **_**attempted**_** such things. Cadmus is becoming precocious. Any thoughts for me here? Or blatant pointing-out of my failings?**

Faylinn**: Oh, I hate it when that happens. --hands over the CD-- Ha, and you thought **_**you **_**had it bad. I've been picturing her as a stiffly-jointed doll throughout the entire story. I don't know why Cadmus decided it would be such a great idea to base a character off of my china doll that I was never allowed to play with, but he did. It is the source of much amusement to me, however. Ha! That comment almost made me spit water all over the keyboard of my newly-recovered computer. Brilliant. I feel like a translation of Jab into modern-day-speak would probably be singularly hilarious to attempt. Stick that in your juice box and suck it, indeed. **

"**But dude, you can't keep all the plates spinning," Carvin said reasonably. **

"**Um, dude, I haven't even been spinning, like, **_**one," **_**Faidn pointed out. **

"**Whatever," Carvin said dismissively. "You just have to let Swana handle this. Aight?" **

"**Yeah yeah, easy for you to say, Mr. I-Have-The-Perfect-Life," Faidn grumbled.**

"**Swana's a boss," Carvin said, glossing over the mumbling. "She'll win."**

**LOL. I can't keep a straight face. Such a serious conversation. Such ridiculous language. Moving on now. Ugh, the Iriana scene was originally horrid. I just re-wrote it in an attempt to get better. Perhaps it's better than it was, and worse than everything else. Humph. More rewriting is needed. Thanks for pointing it out, anyway. I love Rose, too! And that whole story is explained in the Asides. Just glance through them again, and it should make sense. It's implied that the unnamed boy is actually Aerin, running away from home to find Rose. He ends up switched with the Prince, who never switches back. And then when he's almost murdered, the book influences him to wish himself in. Make sense?**

bingo7**: Oh, wow! I didn't know you were still reading. --grin-- He is, indeed. Isn't it funny? **

Captain Fantastic**: Aw. Puppies. Snuggly animals are great. Unfortunately, I don't think animals like me much, though, or I always seem to be saddled with pets who disdain human affection. --sigh-- I'm a fan of married-couple-ness, too. It's my favorite type of romance. --grin-- I'm glad you like the Faidn bit! It is a little odd and anti-fairy tale to have my main character not doing anything to help, but it **_**is **_**realistic I think. Sometimes, you just can't do anything. Poor Faidn. --pats him on the shoulder-- Heh, I just look away and roll my eyes. Silly people. --chuckle-- Oh heavens, me too. I like the Glee covers of songs quite a lot, though I only vaguely follow the show.**

Pimpernel Princess**: Heh, there's not a lot of it there. **Lobuck **is rather lax in updating. --eye roll in her direction-- Good! I'm glad I managed to work with Faidn's emotions in a way that was actually productive! I was having trouble with him near the end. He just wanted to clam up and keep his feelings a complete secret. Silly Faidn. And then he ended up looking like a total creep, so I had to revise it **_**again... **_**But anyway, yes. Yay! I'm glad you liked Iriana's dream-memory, too. Thanks!**

Mazkeraide**: Brilliant speculation as always. I hope your exams went well! Thank you for taking the time to review. Yeah, I wasn't a fan of that reveal either, but that's what came out in WriMo. --face-- That will probably be fixed on the rewrite or earlier if I can muster a better scene from Cadmus. --pokes him--**

EVA**: Men do like to fix things. Especially Faidn. He's a little too logical. --grin-- Ah, Iriana is lying on a different bed beside Rose. They're in the sickroom, which has a few beds in it. The problem of the assumption is something I'm going to fix later and have mentioned in the AN of my last chapter, I believe. How this works is that there's a spell that the sorcerer has placed on the book and everyone who reads it so that anyone who discovers how to break the spell will fall asleep. He thinks this makes his book pretty foolproof, then, because people will either get sucked into it or figure out the spell and fall asleep, and no one will ever be able to break the spell. See? However, people inside the book can break the spell if they can figure it out. Yes, I love Carvin, too. He's so great. --smile-- I'm glad you liked Iriana's bedroom description, too. That was one of those scenes that I strung out for some extra words in WriMo, but I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for the long review!**

**Reviewers get a piece of king's cake! Whoever gets the baby Jesus gets a special prize. **


	34. End of the World

**14 . 1 . 10**

**Sorry for the delays in updates. I feel quite dreadful, as they **_**are **_**all written, and all I have to do is find a moment to sit down and reply to reviews. However, long-enough moments seem to be few and far between in my life at the moment.**

**Remember: I did write this during WriMo for the most part, so please point out plot-holes or egregious errors as you see them. I'm all about improving myself.**

* * *

Karl and Faidn sat mostly in silence after Rose disappeared and the book stopped being intelligible. One of them would occasionally open the book to be sure nothing had changed, but other than that, they didn't so much as move. Nre came back in a little later, and Karl had to explain what had happened to Rose and the book.

"So now _she's _in the story, too?" Nre asked. "Heavens!"

"Hence why the book spontaneously combusted," Karl said, holding the book by the front cover only and pointing to the front page.

Nre winced at the treatment of the book, cursed though it was.

"What about Iriana?" she asked. "Is she going into the story, too?"

"I guess we'll have to wait and see," Karl said sarcastically, tossing the book onto the ground. "At this rate, any _one_ of us could vanish into the book. What a frightening—"

The fiari vanished.

Faidn and Nre blinked.

"I think we should take this as a ... good sign," Faidn said slowly, seeing Nre's eyes widen in the precursor of panic.

"And why's that?" Nre asked, her voice climbing in pitch.

_Reason, reason... _he thought desperately, trying to search for a believable one.

"Um," Faidn said, stalling, "because Swana might have called him to help," he said finally. "It's not too likely that the book would just suck in Karl for no reason."

Faidn tried to look convincing. Nre didn't look completely won over, but she stopped looking like she was going to go break something.

"I guess," she said hesitantly.

"Swana will get them out," Faidn said, and this time he really believed it.

Something about seeing everything go wrong made his trust in Swana escalate. He looked over at Iriana, who was looking troubled.

_Please, Swana._

* * *

In the book, there was a monologue that Roger delivered. Now, the book had given up on pleasantries entirely. Or, perhaps the book didn't know what to do anymore, and Hughes was just controlling things and wanted to get rid of them in any way he could think of without destroying the plot entirely. Roger was no longer smooth and wordy; he shot a burst of magic at Derwin as soon as the mist cleared without any warning whatsoever. The man dodged, barely, but felt it brush his just-healed shoulder with a sting.

He realized in the back of his mind that everyone's appearances had stuck – but not in their characters' bodies. When Derwin stood back up, he was a full head taller than he had been in over ten years, and he almost lost his balance. Swana came to his aid, curling her fingers and shooting a slim jet of magic at Roger's face. He blocked it, ricocheting it toward Francis and Lilliana, and drew his sword. Lilliana ducked, the magic sailing easily over her child's frame. Francis dodged the magic and drew his sword, too.

Instead of rushing at Roger, however, he turned on Lilliana.

The girl shrieked and ran, shooting a ball of magic over her shoulder as she did. Francis drew his sword up and slashed through the magic with his sword, electrifying the blade and absorbing most of the energy into his body – one of the perks of having giant-blood in this world. The magic brightened his eyes and quickened his steps, much to Lilliana's dismay. Thinking fast, she formed a rope of magic and threw it at his feet, directing the rope to trip him. It caught one foot, and he stumbled, giving Lilliana enough time to dance further away and conjure another object to aid her in her fight: a strong shield and a broad sword. Francis was running toward her again as the heavy objects sent her plummeting to the ground; she wasn't strong enough as an eleven-year-old girl to lift a shield and weird a sword.

Thinking fast, she whispered some magic at the two pieces of metal and ran her fingers quickly along them. Swana had mentioned this spell to her earlier that day. Her hands didn't shake as she spoke the spell with confidence, despite the fact that the large man was lumbering toward her at a speed that would most certainly guarantee her death if she mispronounced a word or forgot a section of the spell. Just as he got within striking distance, she hefted the sword and shield and, with a cry that was also a spell, met his sword above her head. She blocked the strike, and almost knocked the sword out of his hand.

She grinned victoriously.

Deborah had also drawn her blade on Swana, who was forced to give up her attack on Roger to battle the slim elf-woman. She, like Lilliana, interspersed magic in with swordplay. Deborah was incredibly nimble and agile – much more so than even Swana. The sorceress was depending on her magic heavily to keep her head above the water in that fight, a situation which didn't seem to bother her unduly, despite the fact that she was unused to fighting such skilled opponents. Her red hair had been knotted down her back at the beginning of the day, but now it was swinging freely, a cascade of flame that whirled and whipped about her as she darted and spun.

She and Deborah were moving so fast that they became blurs of color. Swana's hair and blade were all that were really visible – a flame that was swordfighting an elf. Magic was flying and blades were clanging together. Theirs was obviously the most heated fight, more so than even Roger's and Derwin's, which was coming to a peak behind them.

Derwin had some trouble adjusting to his new body at first; as Roger advanced, Derwin drew his sword, a familiar motion that had become horribly unfamiliar. He blocked the first blow, but almost missed the second one. His arms were longer than he was used to; the same actions didn't always translate into the same result. Roger nicked his leg when Derwin didn't block well enough; the man's eyes were blazing with terrifying fury into Derwin's. After a few more defensive moves, Derwin began to grow accustomed to the longer limbs and taller frame. Using the master swordsman's tactics, Derwin used the height to his advantage and pressed Roger backwards, toward the other fighting pairs.

As Derwin began to fight back, he noticed arrows whizzing through the air. Rose was standing back from the group taking careful aim and loosing arrows. They weren't normal arrows, however; they dissolved on impact into bolts of magic with varied effects. One of them hit Roger in the neck, and a large purple welt swelled up, distracting him long enough to allow Derwin to gash his right shoulder. The man shouted in pain and switched the blade to his left hand, fighting back harder. But Derwin had now gained the advantage. Another arrow from Rose was all it took to give Derwin the opening he needed to run his sword through the man.

He didn't stay to watch Roger die, like he was supposed to in the original story. Instead, a shout from Lilliana prompted him to run to her aid. She was holding up astonishingly well against Francis, improvising spells to aid her swordfighting skills. She was blocking and parrying like she'd been born to fight, and she was using magic sparingly enough not to energize Francis but often enough to combat the phenomenal difference in strength.

She glanced at Derwin in relief when he arrived, though, and between the two of them, (and a well-timed arrow from Rose) Francis was defeated as well. Swana was wiping her blade on the fallen elf-maid's shirt as they turned to her.

"We've done it!" Lilliana shouted gleefully, watching a shimmering black breeze blow out from Roger's fallen figure.

It glinted in the light, hovering for a moment above the fallen wizard, then dissipated and swept over the land.

The stone blades of grass straightened like dancers before a show, then fell limply in relief to their verdant, green form at last. They all watched in silence as the breeze swept over the fields, changing the plains from grey to green in a rippling wave. It brushed the castle's gardens, bringing to life unimaginable colors in the flowers among the rubble of the dwelling place. It touched the trees in the distance, and what had once appeared a stone wall now looked like a friendly wood. The sun was shining, drawing out the bright colors from every direction.

"Nice clothes," Lilliana said to Derwin, giggling. "I thought you said you weren't a prince."

He looked down and realized with a start what he was wearing; a royal red velvet tunic with gold buttons was tucked into black velveteen pants, which were, in turn, tucked into smart black boots with jewels in the shape of a boat's sail (the crest of Ellespeth) on the side of them. He hadn't seen these clothes in ages; they were a bit snug, evidencing his apparent growth since he'd turned seventeen and fallen into the book.

"You're one to talk," Derwin said, looking away from his own clothes and raising his eyebrows at Lilliana's dress.

The ball dress, now torn and dusty, was a blue rivaling that of the sky. Pins jutted out from it in many odd angles, and pieces of cloth that had not been well-attached littered the ground by Francis.

"I was getting ready for a ball," she defended, folding her arms and glaring at the offensive dress. "I wish I could have Julia's pants back. Dresses are awful."

"Is that – Ellespeth?" Rose said, looking at Derwin's boots with the air of one who had just been reminded of something very unpleasant. "Are you from Ellespeth?"

"I am," he said cautiously.

"The prince," she guessed. Her face was unreadable.

"Not exactly."

"Now, how do we get out?" Swana said quietly, staring at the beatific sky for answers. Rose turned from Derwin with a last lingering glance, looking like she wanted to answer Swana's question but wasn't sure if she should speak.

The others turned toward Swana, realizing all at once that the scene, which had been tearfully perfect a moment ago, was now starting to dim. The colors seemed less bright than before, like a painting left out in the sun. Clouds began to roll in from the horizon, and an icy wind picked up from somewhere beyond the castle.

"You need a fairy," Rose finally said in answer to Swana's question, taking a step toward the sorceress.

Swana turned to look at her, and though Rose brought her hands together nervously, she didn't step back.

"Well, a fiari," Rose amended. "I figured it out – I guess that's why I fell asleep." She paused a moment, looking up at Swana. The woman nodded, and Rose continued. "I did some searching on how to break a spell, since I knew there was something fishy with Derwin's character." She glanced at Derwin who grinned broadly; she had noticed his strange insertions. "A fiari's magic is stronger than anything else, right? None of the books said that outright, but after reading several of them, I was just thinking one night and I realized the only way to break a really strong spell was to get a fiari wish working against it. But it would have to be a really strong fiari, otherwise it would kill even the fiari."

Rose finished her speech and took a deep breath. Lilliana ran up to her brilliant aunt and grabbed her hand, smiling appreciatively. Derwin smiled, too. _This is Rose. It sounds just like her._

"Of course," Swana murmured. "A fiari. But a strong one."

She closed her eyes and spoke very clearly.

"Karl, I require your assistance."

--

There was a brief but intense burst of wind, and then a lithe, black-haired man appeared in front of Swana. Not a moment after he came into existence, he was yelling.

"What are you doing?! You're insane!" he shouted, spreading his hands wide in an agitated, slicing movement. "Are you trying to make the book _burst into flame?_ Or _fall to pieces? _There's only so many people we can wedge into this stupid stack of paper before the spell snaps and _kills everyone!_"

"I wasn't planning to let the spell get to that point," Swana said, and thunder clapped.

"A little late," Karl said nastily, pointing at the sky.

Lilliana's eyes followed Karl's finger, and she gasped and clung tighter to Rose's hand, who looked up, too. Derwin followed their gaze and felt his stomach drop. The sky was full of cracks, breaking and tearing into great chunks of grey and blue. It wasn't thunder they were hearing; it was the sky falling to pieces – like the ceiling of the castle had done not a half-hour before. Tiny lines and huge faults appeared in the dull blue, and with each spidery reach of division, more thunder rent the air until they could hear nothing else. Clouds blew across the sky in a neverending line and were sucked into the cracks, flaking away and darting into the heaven's gaping maw.

Despite the fact that all the clouds seemed to be disappearing before they would have time to rain, water began to fall from the sky. It poured from every crevice in unbelievable quantities, like the floodgates of heaven had crumbled. The rain that gushed from the demolished blue felt like an ocean was being overturned on the plain. Derwin, Rose, and Lilliana clung to each other like they were drowning, and Swana gripped Derwin's shoulder to stay upright under the crippling downpour. Karl had a hand on Derwin's shoulder, but his eyes were fixed on Swana, murderous.

"I can't do this," he shouted through the rain.

"You can," Swana replied, her voice still calm.

"This is _insane_, Reese. I could _die._"

"You will do it," Swana said.

"Is that an order?" Karl asked, something changing in his face.

"It's my wish."

Karl looked at her, his eyes hard, scrutinizing her face. She stared brazenly back at him. He didn't look away for a long minute, rain completely drenching his hair and coursing down his face in an avalanche of tears. Then, he closed his eyes and lifted his arms toward the darkening sky, which was beginning to disgorge stars and fling them toward the earth. A blazing ball of light was screaming toward them, radiating so much heat that they could feel it when it was still twenty feet away. As it neared the ground, the water that had flooded the plain almost two inches deep began to bubble and boil, and when it slammed into the ground next to them, the water evaporated with a deafening hiss of steam. It burnt the grass to ash before it was quenched by the insurmountable rain.

Swana yelled an unfamiliar word, and a bubble of pale light surrounded them. Another star came at them then, and Rose and Lilliana jumped back in fright, running into Derwin who barely managed to wrap his arms around both of them and keep them inside the bubble. The star swerved away just before striking the shell of light, obviously repelled by the magical shield, and came to land several yards away. Their ears were once more full of hissing water and their noses with burning grass, but they felt no heat. All across the fields, stars were being extinguished by the water after sending up billowing plumes of steam. The sky was being conquered by earth; the earth was being conquered by the sky.

Derwin kept his arms around Rose and Lilliana, the younger of which had buried her face in his chest after the first star and hadn't risked more than a few peeks since then. Rose also had her arm around Lilliana protectively, wishing she could shield her from this nightmare. Swana was standing a few steps away from them, her eyes fixed immovably on the fiari. Karl stood in the pouring rain and fire, his face screwed up in pain and concentration and his fists clenched at what was left of the heavens.

Derwin dared a glance at the skies, and what he saw was unlike anything he'd ever thought to imagine. The sky, which had already been smashed into unrecognizable shards, was now wrenched open like a burning house, smoking with fury and raining the stars like coals. The clouds still rushing from the far horizon were catching fire and hurtling to the earth as a haze of flaming air. Derwin thought they looked like fallen angels, wafting their way down to earth. One of them settled on the roof of the far-off forest, and the entire canopy of leaves burst into flame.

He felt Rose and Lilliana trembling against his chest, then realized it wasn't them, but the earth itself. It started off in steady tremors, accompanied by a low rumble deep in the earth's core that was punctuated by the still-falling stars. Then the noise grew louder, and the shaking grew faster, until Karl and Swana were knocked to their knees by the rattling ground and overpowering sound. The roaring had escalated to a horrible, deafening noise, like the grinding and breaking up of the deeps. Suddenly the sound of rushing waters drowned out even the spitting of falling stars and growling of the earth. Great gorges were peeling open all around them, and the water gushed into them, attempting to slake the thirst of the deep.

Black, acrid clouds of flaming smoke and gas belched from the chasms, creeping across the ground like hellish fog. Lilliana's face was buried in his chest, but Rose was looking on, silent, with Derwin. She looked at Derwin and grabbed his hand as the glowing, horrific clouds rushed in on them from every side. He held her hand tightly and looked to Swana, who was frowning and muttering where she knelt in the rapidly receding water in front of Karl; the fiari was crumpled in agony, but his hands were still uplifted, pale and shaking.

In all of this, the rain had not stopped; it thundered onto their heads with the same intensity as before, showing no signs of stopping.

Just before the firey clouds touched the bubble, the magic glowed ruby red, and the clouds parted around it. They were ringed with fire and drenched with water, but they were still alive. Karl let out a yell that sounded like one of both pain and frustration.

"I can't do it!" he shouted between his teeth.

Swana moved toward him and put both of her hands on his shoulders.

"Do it," she said.

The ground broke apart without warning underneath Derwin, Rose, and Lilliana; Derwin lunged backward as the chasm stole the ground from beneath the two women's feet. With a crazed effort, he dragged them to the edge barely in time; their feet dangled in the scorching air for just a moment before he pulled them onto the solid ground. But now they were outside the bubble, choking and burning in the heat and smoke while trying to keep their balance on ground that was once more bucking beneath their feet. Swana and Karl were unaffected, kneeling like twin statues in the rain – the crack hadn't reached quite to them.

"By me," Swana called, another bubble coming into place around her.

Lilliana, Rose, and Derwin were already stumbling headlong toward her as best they could, feeling the heat evaporate their waterlogged clothes in the space of a moment and start to blister their skin. The smoke and flames blinded them and strangled them; Lilliana had grabbed Rose's hand while she could still see, but the chain of three was threatening to tear apart. The heat was unbearable, and their hands were slipping out of each other's grip.

Just when they were beginning to lose hope that they'd make to Swana's heavenly bubble before burning up, they fell into the globe of soft light. Once inside, they immediately started to shiver and gag, the icy rain drenching them the instant they left the burning cloud and filling their noses and mouths with water where the smoke had tried to drown them before. They choked and spluttered, on their hands and knees: shuddering, aching, burning, dying.

And then, Karl began to scream. He opened his hands in a gesture of complete surrender and threw his head back. Swana faced the ghastly remains of the heavens, too, her face expressing the feelings Karl's scream embodied; weight, pain, anger, hopelessness, and determination. The earth shook and began to truly fall to pieces beneath their feet, crumbling like it was made of sand. Lilliana, Rose, and Derwin all screamed; they managed to hold onto each other as the charred grass dissolved and fell away beneath them. The ground began to slope, and Lilliana fell against Derwin, still choking and screaming. Rose tumbled over the edge with a cry, but Lilliana and Derwin both caught her arms. A moment later, however, they, too, were tipped into the chasm. A rift opened underneath Swana, and she and Karl fell in an instant.

As they all began to tumble into the firey deep, everything went utterly black.

Silence, nothingness. The world vanished, and it was like the only thing that existed for Derwin was Rose's arm in his grip, attempting to save her from something he couldn't control. He wasn't even sure he himself existed in this stillness that preceded the universe...

And then they were lying on a cold, hard floor, sopping wet, burned, bloody, and bruised. Derwin peeled open his blistered eyes and noted that it was a wooden floor, and then the room was full of noise. Noise, however, much less frightening than that of extinguishing stars and crashing earth. Noise of people. Noise of love.

* * *

**Whew. Take a deep breath. And then, tell me what you thought. --grin--  
**

Pimpernel Princess**: There, not a cliffie. Happy now? --cheeky smile-- Poor Faidn indeed. The guy's worn out! Thank you for your prayers and support; I really appreciate it.**

Captain Fantastic**: Wow! Sounds exciting. --grin-- I actually made a king's cake for the first time this year (with copious help from **Lobuck**) and it turned out quite well. It's tastier than it looks. Heh heh... Ah, I am jealous of your amiable pets. The past-Rose doesn't know what's going on, because it's like a memory. The Rose that's dreaming is basically watching and reliving without any control over the past. Does that make sense? She was startled because her past-self is the one that called Nre "Nre" instead of Taylor, when she shouldn't have known that yet. See? I feel like I am making this hopelessly more complicated than it should be... There was a FIGHT! I hope it satisfied your bloodlust. --laugh!-- And, thank you for your support. It's been a tough few weeks.**

Bingo7**: Faidn is one of my favorite characters probably ever. --grin-- And Derwin and Rose make me smile.**

Missmolly02481**: I'm glad you like Carvin and Fai; it was hard to age them and keep their characters intact. --scary face--**

EVA**: And I feel like an awful person for keeping you waiting this long. --wince-- I'm sorry. I hope you enjoyed, anyway! I'm sorry to hear about Craig's Nana; I'll keep you all in my prayers, too. Yes, Constance is... well, we're not on speaking terms. She's working for the moment, but I think it's strictly out of fear for her life. Heh. I'm glad you liked that metaphor – you had a good thought about it. Iriana fell asleep, so the dungeons she's in are the dungeons of her own mind. She's plagued by her own imagination in addition to the malicious machinations of Hughes. Sometimes our minds can be our own worst enemy...**

**I put the reviewers in a hat and picked a name at random, so the person who got baby Jesus in their slice of cake was... **Captain Fantastic**! You'll get your prize at the story's end. --smile--**

**Reviewers get a pack of Sour Patch Kids!**

**EDIT: Thank you, **EVA**, for pointing out my typo!**


	35. The Calm Before

**20 . 1 . 10**

**This is my attempt to update in a reasonable amount of time! **

**Disclaimer: These characters are all mine, and I'm actually kinda proud of them. And the cheese is mine too. Heh.**

**I know this chapter has some blocky transitions; I had a lot of trouble switching from group to group within the room. If you have any opinions about that specifically, I'd love to hear them. And, of course, this is WriMo material: point out any other flaws you see, please!**

* * *

There were cries of surprise and relief when the five appeared on the sickroom floor, and then there were hands and arms everywhere, touching and feeling and making sure everyone was alright. The sickroom was full of people; after Rose had disappeared, and Karl had been summoned into the book, Carvin and Nre had both arrived, and Sarah refused to stop pacing the floor. Now, all four anxious adults were crowding around the five exhausted figures that had suddenly appeared on the floor.

"You're all alive," Carvin sighed with tremendous relief, unable to hide the huge smile that crossed his face at the sight of his daughter.

"Linna!" Nre cried, scooping up her daughter before the girl could even stand up and holding her close.

Lilliana threw her arms around her mother's neck and wept tears of relief. Within moments, she was sobbing out apologies; it sounded like she'd been thinking of them for a long time.

"I'm so sorry, Momma," she said, "for being cross. And for reading when I'm not supposed to. And not being polite. And throwing fits."

"That's a lot of apologies at once," Carvin said, putting his arms around the both of them and laying his head against his daughter's sooty, wet hair.

"Well, I mean them," Lilliana said, looking up from her mother's shoulder to stare intently into her father's eyes. Her tears were short lived, now that she was back in her parents' arms, safe and sound.

"You're all forgiven," Nre said, kissing her daughter's grimy cheek. "But you sound all grown up! What happened to you?"

"I just learned stuff," Lilliana said, like it wasn't a big deal. "Books help you learn stuff."

Meanwhile, there was a minor commotion occurring unbeknownst to the royal family, who was very caught up in their own affairs.

"There's something the matter with Karl," Sarah said, kneeling beside the deathly pale fiari and reaching for his wrist. "Faidn, what's the matter with him?"

"Search me," Faidn said, looking a mite less concerned than he would be about anyone else. He turned to Swana to ask her, then realized she too was unconscious.

"Swana?" he said, now starting to get worried.

He put a cautious hand on her arm as Sarah felt frantically for Karl's pulse. The man was unnaturally still and pale. Swana didn't move. She was much too still.

"Swana?" he called again, images of fallen soldiers crowding his eyes.

Her eyes squeezed together in a grimace, and then she forced them open. She sat up groggily. Faidn's heart settled back down into its proper place and he sat back slightly, letting out a breath of relief.

"He's not dead!" Sarah said at the same time, her fingers finding a trace of a heartbeat.

Swana shook her head and blinked, then winced. Her eyes were slightly unfocused; she was obviously very disoriented. Nevertheless, she turned to Sarah and opened her mouth, intending to explain to the woman exactly what needed to be done to ensure that Karl remained alive.

Unfortunately, she was not nearly as understandable as she usually was.

"He—he—uh," Swana said, shaking her head violently and trying to clear it. "He used a lot of magic. He needs—he needs—oh, for the love of the sun, what's the word?"

"Plants!" Sarah said, eyes sparkling with remembrance.

"Plants," Swana affirmed, holding her head and grimacing in pain. "Something with strong roots would be best. _Quickly_."

Sarah took off running down the corridor.

"Are you alright?" Faidn asked when Swana didn't take her head out of her hands.

"I almost gave Karl too much magic when I was helping him," she said slowly. The words came with effort, but she was recovering quickly from the bout of confusion.

Faidn glanced at Karl, who was still completely motionless. If Sarah hadn't declared that she'd found a pulse, Faidn would have thought the fiari was dead. Sarah came rushing back, then, with a potted rose, and Swana took her head from her hands. Faidn backed away quickly as Sarah almost ran into him, feeling that his presence was no longer desired. He stood up and surveyed the room, relieved that everyone had returned alive, regardless of Karl's comparative health.

He spied Rose, who was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, and made his way over to her. When he knelt beside her, she opened her eyes and looked at him. There was a fraction of a moment when she just looked at him, and then she burst into a smile and tackled him. Taken completely off-guard by the sudden rush of affection – especially since the extend of Rose's greetings were usually a very brief and tentative embrace – Faidn actually lost his balance and fell back onto a hand, laughing.

"Nice to see you, too!" he jested, hugging her tightly with his other arm.

"Oh, Faidn," she said, sighing in a way that sounded like she was letting out more than just a pent-up breath of air.

He released her, and she sat back. She couldn't stop smiling. Smoke and fire had crusted her face with grey and tender pink, but she exuded joy with such confidence that Faidn couldn't help laughing again.

"Rose – how did you get in the book?" he asked. "I thought you were just asleep."

"I started dreaming of the book," she said. "Things in my memories started to go haywire, and then there I was." She shrugged helplessly and looked puzzled herself; she didn't know much about the book, having been inside it the longest.

"The whole book started going crazy after Swana went in," Faidn said, adding to her story. "Words and chapters started moving around at random. Karl and I tried to follow the story, but it was just impossible. We had no idea what was going on anymore. And then, you vanished, right out of the bed!"

"I opened my eyes after going to sleep in my memories, and Derwin was trying to carry me down the stairs in Winsome Castle," she explained. "And from then on, I was in the book. As Marsha, I guess."

At the mention of his name, Derwin looked over from Swana, who was carefully winding Karl's fingers around a potted plant and whispering something under her breath, wincing in pain.

"So you're Derwin," Faidn said, nodding at him.

Derwin edged closer to them and smiled nervously. Faidn sized him up briefly; he was tall and strong, with dark brown hair and steely grey eyes. The clothes he wore were plush, but unfamiliar. They weren't from any of the western countries. The style tugged his memory toward the Philettin war ten years earlier. The man looked uncomfortable, but not frightened or intimidated.

"Guilty as charged," he said succinctly, making brief eye contact with Faidn.

The moment wasn't hostile or cowardly, but charitable and friendly. _He's a good man, _Faidn knew. That thought made him relax, just a bit. Rose, who had missed the interaction, was all questions, now that the danger had passed.

"So, who are you? And where are you from?" Rose asked; there was something in her voice, like the barest hint of a suspicion. Faidn wondered what she was thinking.

"That's a hard question, and I'm from Ellespeth," Derwin said, folding his hands experimentally, marveling at his hand-breadth. He'd forgotten how large his hands had once been, after ten years in the book.

"We've got time," Faidn said, his interest in the man piqued as he realized how intent Rose was on him. There was more going on here than he realized.

"I was a prince before I fell into the book," he said after a pause for thought. "Prince Isaiah, if you remember him, Rose."

"I didn't know much about the politics," Rose said, shaking her head, then looked up at him carefully. "I didn't say I was from Ellespeth."

"You commented on my boots," he reminded her.

"Wait, if your name is Isaiah, why did you become Derwin in the book?" Faidn asked, eying the man suspiciously.

"I didn't realize I was in the book at first," Derwin, or Isaiah, explained. "I thought I was still in Ellespeth. And – uh, the prince wasn't very well-liked at the time. In fact, there were hundreds of people trying to kill the prince. So, naturally, when I awoke and a group of strange people asked me my name, I said the first name that came to mind – the name of the character I had been thinking about as I fell unconscious."

"You talk about the prince like he's a different person," Rose observed shrewdly.

"Well, I'm not technically the prince," he said, closing one eye and looking at the two of them as if waiting for them to declare him insane.

"Who _are_ you, then?" Faidn asked. He was getting impatient with the winding story.

"Before I become a prince," he said, looking at Rose, "I was a regular boy, one who had run off from home to find his best friend who was taken away."

There was a heavy pause. Rose looked at the man without a name, and Faidn saw years of life pass between them in the space of a breath. She opened her mouth, and gave him a name.

"Aerin," she said softly.

Faidn blinked, taken aback. Rose had told him about her childhood friend, Aerin, years ago – how he'd been the only friend she'd had until she met Sarah, about the games they used to play, and how he'd been forced to turn her in to the slave trader in the end. He looked at the man, who was wincing at the long-deserted name, guilt coming to the forefront of his emotions.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, an apology fifteen years overdue. "I tried to—I'm—sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said, and there was no bitterness in her tone. "There's nothing to forgive."

"How can you say that?" he asked, spreading his hands. "I betrayed you. I should have run away, not let myself get caught. I should have just taken the beating and not tell them where you were. I shouldn't have let my fear—"

"Aerin," she said, hesitating, then putting a hand on his arm. "You were only twelve. You panicked. It was my father's fault, not yours."

He looked down at her hand.

"I still shouldn't—"

"Stop it," she said quietly. "It's done. I forgave my father long ago."

"You never blamed me?" he asked, frowning.

"I did, for a while," she admitted. Faidn remembered that. "But it was unfair."

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

Rose almost told him again not to apologize, but then she looked up into his grey eyes and saw the agony of fifteen years.

"I forgive you," she said simply, because he needed to hear it, and because it was true.

They were saved any awkwardness that might have followed this statement by the outburst on the other side of the room.

"You women are _certifiable!_"

Karl's voice lifted above everything else as he scooted away from Sarah and Swana and stood to his feet, sucking on an apparently injured finger. Swana was up like a shot, though, and steadying him when he began to sway.

"The flowers were a nice idea," he continued, gesturing at the now-limp plant, "but stabbing me with them was unnecessary! Did you forget that I almost died? The almost-dead don't get near the respect that they used to."

His tirade had diminished into muttering resentment, but Sarah was already on her feet, looking very cross.

"I wasn't stabbing you!" she protested, folding her arms and giving him a look not unlike the one she gave Stephen when he was being ridiculous. "I was trying to get you to hold them. They're _roses_. They have _thorns, _idiot_._"

Karl was about to say something nasty in reply when Swana cut him off sharply.

"Sit _down_," she said firmly. "Sarah just saved your life." Then, she looked over at Faidn. "Where's the book?"

"Right, so now that I'm no longer on the brink of death..." Karl mumbled sourly, slumping to the ground with a moan.

"Uh," Faidn said, trying to recall where he'd dropped it when the host of people had materialized. "By Iriana on the bed."

Saying her name reminded him that, though _Rose_ was awake and talking like she'd never been on the brink of death, Iriana had not woken up. He stood to his feet and left Rose and Aerin to join Swana at the foot of her bed. Iriana hadn't moved since the last time he'd stood there; she still lay on the bed, looking like she might be merely asleep.

"Why didn't she wake up when you came out of the book?" Faidn questioned, looking at her motionless form.

"She's not physically in the book," Swana said tiredly, picking up the book and running her fingers over the cover. "Her mind is trapped in the spell."

"Didn't you break the spell, getting out of the book?" Faidn asked.

"That was me," Karl piped up, sitting on the floor and rolling the stem of another plant Sarah had brought him between his fingers. "I broke the spell."

"Part of it," Swana said, ignoring the fiari. "But it doesn't affect Iriana, because she wasn't in the story."

"So," Faidn said, "how do we wake her up?"

"I'm going to have to go in and get her."

"Hark, the suicidal savior speaketh," chimed in Karl; the pain was making him even more biting than usual. "After giving me all that magic you did, you're going to kill yourself if you try to fight Hughes for Iriana. I hope you don't expect me to save you again."

"I'm not going to kill myself," Swana said, a little testily. "I'm going to channel all the leftover magic from when you shattered the spell, not use my own. And, someone else is coming with me."

"Not me," Karl said flatly, putting aside the second plant, which was now wilted as well; he looked slightly less pale. "And why?"

"No, not you," Swana agreed in equal tone. "I need someone to find Iriana while I distract Hughes. It has to be someone who can fight with weapons; Hughes will inevitably throw obstacles and enemies in his way."

She paused, looking at the available candidates. Derwin stood up, Carvin folded his arms expectantly, but Faidn spoke first, looking up from Iriana's placidly emotionless face.

"I'll go."

He'd spent weeks watching helplessly as first Rose, and then Iriana fell captive to their own worst memories, while he could only watch, unable to do anything whatsoever to help. The inaction was killing him; he was happy to finally be able to _do _something. Swana nodded. She'd expected that.

"Once Faidn finds Iriana," Swana continued, "You, Karl, are going help him solve the spell and break it, which should get us all out of the book."

"Then we light the book on fire," Nre said wrathfully.

Lilliana looked at her like she'd grown another arm.

"I feel that statement should be recorded for posterity," Carvin said, trading a look with his daughter.

"And all of this while you battle Hughes and _don't_ die?" Karl asked. "And _I, _alsowithout dying, am going to run thoughts through a complexly spelled object after just having finished hacking a fabricated world to pieces?"

"Channel the book's magic," Swana said shortly, "There's more there than I could use in twelve battles."

Swana was growing tired of Karl's complaints – evidence that she wasn't quite herself. Faidn wondered if Karl's comments didn't have some merit; he'd never seen Swana look so tired, even in their year fighting together in the Philettin war. Karl looked sullen, but didn't argue. Swana looked at Faidn.

"Touch the book," she instructed.

As always, there were no preemptive warnings, advice, or reiteration of instruction. She just acted. That's why she and Faidn got along.

After a quick check that he had his sword on his belt, Faidn put a hand on the book, and everything was black.

* * *

**Enter knight in shining armor... --cheeky smile--**

Captain Fantastic**: --laugh!-- I'm glad I could make you so happy! And I'm glad you like that part. --chuckle-- I just couldn't throw any more confusion in there. Cadmus was starting to trip over the tangled plot-threads as he painted, which almost made him smear Nre's face more than once, so I decided not to add to the mess. Heh. And it is rather atypical, isn't it? Hum. I didn't give that a whole lot of thought, actually. The description! Yay! That was a good writing day, I remember. I was rereading and being a little impressed, myself. Cadmus is great. I'm glad you liked those lines. --smile-- Oh, Karl. I love him. I'm glad I'm not the only one. A guilty pleasure, indeed. Heh heh... Yeah, real arrows might have been more effective, but for the fact that they were probably charmed to aim true, and **_**not **_**hit any of their people. In such a close battle, not hitting your friend would be night impossible, yet she didn't miss once. Sure, she's awesome, but that's just a little implausible. o.O And the magical arrows probably had more of an effect on Francis, who wouldn't have been too terribly bothered by real arrows. Ah, I see someone caught the name-slip. --secretive smile--**

Pimpernel Princess**: --beaming-- I'm glad you liked it! It was monstrous fun to write. Cadmus was going all kinds of haywire. Oh Faidn – what would I do without him? --grin-- **

EVA**: Well! I'm glad you (and your family by association) enjoyed the chapter! I was flattered at EEP's comparison to LotR – I can only hope to be as fabulous as Tolkein... Ah, thanks for catching that typo. It's fixed now, and you have a shout out. 1) I hate it when people mistreat books. Ugh! 2) Poetic irony, yes! --chuckle-- And I just found it amusing. 3) Heh, well, Swana is most definitely human. But, there is something about her that seems to demand more trust than the average human. 4) I'm glad you enjoyed that bit; I had a lot of fun with it. Heh, yeah, Linna fighting off Francis is a little far-fetched, but I did try to emphasize the fact that she was heavily dependent on magical spells (that would presumably be strengthening her attacks, weakening his, possibly speeding up her reactions, etc.) and she was also beleaguered. But, at any rate... **

**5) Yes. I didn't want to make Swana a super-human. She's been the voice of reason and the most powerful person thus far, always having the right ideas and putting them to action, but, while she may be extraordinary, she's not infallible. 6) Indeed. --grin-- Ah, I believe I said Derwin was crouching/kneeling at that point, so her face would be in his chest. Or at least that's how I imagined it. I shall have to go back and make sure I stated that. 7) I'm glad that description turned out alright, and that you liked it! Wow, did I actually make you feel sorry for Karl? Excellent! --does a happy dance-- I feel like he's a hard character to honestly pity, but I think he deserves it in that situation, so I'm glad you did. Aww, thanks. --grin-- I do hope that each story gets better than the one before it, so we shall see.**

**Reviewers get brownie bites!**


	36. Get Out Of My Head!

**24 . 1 . 10**

**Happy birthday to me.**

* * *

When Faidn opened his eyes, he wasn't anywhere at all. The ground he was standing on, next to Swana, was colorless and lacked texture. It was solid, but that was all he could determine. There was nothing around them – no walls, objects, shadows, or evidence that any person had ever been there.

"On your guard," Swana said.

Her voice was tired, but her eyes were glinting as she looked around for movement. Faidn looked around them, too, but there was nothing there; there was not even a sound, or an echo of a sound, that reached his ears in the strange empty world. The nondescript land was completely deserted of any life. Light came from nowhere and everywhere; it was as bright as a spring day, but there was nothing there that hinted at spring. Even the light itself was wan and weary – bleak as the world it lit.

And then, as Faidn's eyes were trying to scan the scenery with difficulty, a man was in front of them. He neither appeared nor walked up to them; he was merely there when he hadn't been a moment before. He was as tall as Faidn, though older, and he wore brown traveling clothes, much like Swana's. _This must be Hughes, _Faidn thought, glad to have a definite point on which to focus his eyes. The colorless landscape was starting to mess with his mind.

"Swana, at last," the man said, dipping his greying head slightly. "I've heard much of you wherever this book went."

He ignored Faidn entirely. Faidn was alright with that; the wizard reminded him of the gypsies that had tricked and kidnapped him when he was seventeen. He had that same look in his eye – the look that made Faidn know immediately that the man was going to cheat him if he wasn't careful. Faidn recalled Swana's story of weeks ago – Hughes wasn't particularly smart, but he was crafty. Seeing the man in person confirmed this description at once.

"You have used magic for evil, wizard," Swana said, looking him in the eye. "Release the princess."

"Release the one person for whom this book was intended?" Hughes laughed. "Give me one good reason. And it had best be a _very good_ one."

"Because if you don't, I will kill you," Swana said without flinching.

"Will you now?" Hughes's voice still carried latent humor, but his eyes flashed. "And what state are you in, to try to kill me, the master of this book?"

"I have a greater power on my side," Swana said calmly; pale magic began to gather in her hands. "I don't belong to the book."

"You're surrounded by my magic," Hughes said, conjuring a mass of light in an instant. It dwarfed the soft light swirling around Swana's palms in size and intensity. "Where you belong doesn't matter. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

He spun the heavy magic at her, but she blocked it with an easy gesture. Her magic spun around his, netting it and carrying it off to the side.

"No, it's not," she said quietly, and then she shot a blast of magic at him.

"_Now would be a good time to get out of the way, before you turn into a three-headed purple frog or a stunted grey newt," _Karl's voice said in Faidn's mind, heavy with sarcasm.

Faidn visibly started; he'd forgotten Karl would be communicating with him. He hadn't been expecting the man's voice in his mind, either, when he'd thought of communication; his mouth pulled into a grimace. It seemed very, very wrong somehow – like he'd have to wash his brain out after they'd finished this affair. Nevertheless, he took several steps back, far out of the fray. Neither Swana nor Hughes noticed him leaving.

"_Look around for Iriana," _Karl instructed.

_She wasn't here when we got here, _Faidn thought, piecing together the sentence in his mind awkwardly. Karl could hear his thoughts. He didn't like this part of the plan.

"_What?" _Karl said._ "Your thoughts are more mixed up than a woman's. Clear your mind."_

_I don't see Iriana, _Faidn thought, concentrating on the words with difficulty and looking around the blank landscape that was devoid of any life save the dueling pair of wizards.

"_Hopeless," _Karl said in disgust. _"I can't understand a word you're thinking. Try speaking aloud."_

"Are you sure it isn't _your fault?_" Faidn muttered testily.

"_No, it's you. You're awful at telepathy."_

"I don't exactly have a lot of practice," Faidn said in annoyance. Secretly, though, he was glad that Karl couldn't hear every passing thought of his. This ordeal was uncomfortable enough without sharing the intimacies of his _thoughts _with a man he didn't much care for.

"_Well, maybe you should," _Karl retorted. _"It comes in handy. Anyway, look for Iriana."_

"She's not here," Faidn said, keeping a wary eye on the battling duo. Light and magic was flying everywhere; he could barely see the two figures for all the spells.

"_Oh, darn," _Karl drawled, _"you must be in the wrong book. Let me just—"_

"There she is," Faidn interrupted, spotting the woman on the ground where she had not been moments earlier. Familiar blonde curls splayed messily over the indistinct floor and the woman's shoulders, which were shaking.

_Iriana,_ Faidn thought so loudly he was surprised it didn't come out his mouth.

He heard Karl mutter some exclamation, but he ignored it, running toward her and dropping to his knees when he reached her side. She didn't look up. She was sobbing – quiet, heart-wrenchingly hopeless swells of grief. He tried put a hand on her shoulder and found that his hand passed straight through her.

"_You're too real to touch her,"_ Karl said with irritation, as if Faidn should have thought of that already. _"__She's only there in spirit, and you're there physically. __You'll need to reach out to her with your magic."_

"How exactly do I do that?" Faidn asked.

_I didn't know I had magic, _he thought to himself.

"_Of course you have magic," _Karl said, sighing at Faidn's stupidity. _"Everyone has magic."_

"I thought you couldn't hear my thoughts!" Faidn said angrily.

"_That one was particularly loud," _Karl said. _"Now, concentrate. I don't know how much time you have before Swana kicks the bucket and you're stuck there forever. Close your eyes and push your mind with magic toward Iriana's. When you feel the magic catch on something, let go__._ _"_

"Uh?" Faidn said helplessly, feeling less certain that his volunteering to go with Swana had been such a good idea after all.

Iriana choked on the violence of her own tears, inches away but untouchable. Faidn's fist clenched of its own accord. He'd come here to _do something, _not watch her.

"_Just do it," _Karl ordered.

Faidn closed his eyes and tried to do what Karl had instructed, but the fiari's voice cut him off after just a few seconds.

"_Y__our magical ability is on level with a drunken rock__," _Karl said bluntly, but then his voice changed as he seemed to have an idea. _"Actually, there might be another way. Try to recall moments – memories – of Iriana, in as much detail as possible, until everything else is blocked from your mind."_

Faidn closed his eyes and visualized the last time he had seen her before she fell asleep – during their early-morning talk. Neither of them were talking at that moment; he had just finished telling her about a time he had taken a roll off the baking stone right out of the oven and then tried to convince his mother that she'd left a spot blank.

He watched her cornflower-blue eyes flit to the lamp in the corner, like she was checking to be sure it was still there. Then, she let them rest for a moment on the folds of her simple green dress. Something in her mouth shifted, and her lips moved into a half smile at some memory.

"What?" he asked, smiling a little in anticipation of an amusing story.

"The rolls," she said, laughing a little, "reminded me of one time, when Cameron took me down to the kitchens and showed me how they were stirring a huge bowl of cake batter."

She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she relived the memory.

"When the cooks left the bowl unattended, we ran over and tasted the batter."

"And?" he prompted, guessing the end of the story.

Iriana threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, my – we ate _half_ the batter in that big bowl. Half of it! The bowl was _this_ big!"

She held her hands out to shoulder width. Faidn had to admit that was quite a lot of batter.

"Did you get caught?" he asked – the most important question.

"Well, not exactly," Iriana said, leaning back again. "We ran away when we heard the cooks coming back. We knew we were going to get in _big_ trouble for that, so we decided to hide in the woods."

She started laughing again, and it took her a minute before she continued on with her story. Faidn was laughing too. Her hilarity made Faidn laugh more than he would have otherwise – more than he had in a long time.

"We didn't even make it to the woods," she managed, putting her head in her hands and shaking it. "We were so sick! We just flopped down onto the grass beside the path and moaned and moaned and _moaned."_

Faidn couldn't stop laughing either; she was animated, using her hands to tell the story as much as her tone, and he could barely get a breath, though he knew the story wasn't _that funny._

Faidn was suddenly jerked out of the memory when he felt something under his fingers. Hair. The bubbling laughter faded from his mind, and he recalled where he was. His eyes flew open and he saw Iriana still sobbing in front of him, but they were now in a dank dungeon, dimly and sparsely lit by dying torches. He looked down at his hand and saw that it was resting on a curl of Iriana's that was on the floor – that was the hair that he felt. Once again, he reached out a hand to her shoulder, and this time he felt her.

"Iriana," he said, relief and worry battling for prominence in the word.

She looked up, slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dark light, and stared at Faidn like he was a ghost.

"F-Faidn?" she croaked, her voice hoarse from disuse and crying.

He just looked at her, disheveled and painfully desolate. He had no concept of any words to say; no clever or comforting remark came to mind. So, he stood, held out a hand, and pulled her to her feet. She balanced unsteadily, still staring at him with disbelief in her wide blue eyes that reflected the very dim light in the dungeon.

Then, after a moment more of staring, she threw herself at him, clinging to his body like it was the only hope left in the world – which, judging by her surroundings, was probably a fair assessment. Faidn could feel her tears mingling with her shaky breath on his chest; her hands clutched at the back of his shirt, gathering fistfuls of the fabric, as if she would be ripped away at any moment and needed a strong hold. At such an unroyal display, Faidn reacted the only way his brain could devise; he put his arms around her and hugged her back. After another moment, he rested his cheek on the side of her head, and neither of them moved. It reminded him of Rose, of his mother, and what she had said, after he'd returned from the war...

"How did you get here?" Iriana asked, loosening her hold slightly and pulling her face away.

"Swana," he said. "We've come to rescue you."

"_Exactly,"_ Karl said, cutting into the moment impatiently. _"And if you don't hurry up and get out, you're going to miss your opportunity. If you're fast enough, you might be able to get out before Hughes sets any little beasties on you."_

"Karl says, 'hello,'" Faidn told her with a frown. He wondered if Karl had heard anything he had just been thinking. Because the man didn't mention it, he assumed not.

"Uh, hello?" Iriana said uncertainly, peering around for Karl.

"_I did not," _Karl said grumpily. _"Ask her if she knows how to break the spell."_

"Do you know how to break the spell?" Faidn asked her. He noticed that she'd slipped her hands free and taken a step back; he quelled the impulse to reverse this action.

"A fiari has to do it," she said, eyes brightening. "Um, where's Karl?"

"_Been there, done that, still have not been properly compensated," _Karl grumbled.

"That was to get people out of the story," Faidn said, finding it unfortunately more difficult to ignore Karl's comments now that they were being made inside of his own head. "I guess it's a different spell to wake you up."

"Oh," Iriana said, crestfallen; the one thing she did know about the constantly shifting world of the book was apparently unhelpful.

"And Karl is in my head," Faidn added, answering her question.

"In your—" Iriana started, mildly revolted at the thought.

"Believe me, it's not as pleasant as it sounds," he interrupted.

His face showed annoyance and strain. Iriana could believe that the experience wasn't very pleasant for Faidn, who was something of a private individual. And Karl was probably egging him on, as always. Iriana shook her head as Faidn tilted his head slightly; she assumed he was listening to Karl again. Her head danced around with silly thoughts, and she tried to make it work reasonably again. Something about this world, the world of her dreams and nightmares, made thinking straight very difficult. Faidn's arrival, however, added an edge of distinction to the surroundings. His straightforward, logical speech, his warm, solid embrace—

Iriana scowled and tried to keep her mind on track.

"_Well, it's not exactly roses and cake for me, either," _Karl said waspishly. _"Your mind is a mess. It's not so hard to clear it out, you know. Although, with a bit of snooping, I could get a lot of good information on Berensia's general..."_

"Keep your nose out of my business," Faidn said frostily. "Picking through people's heads has got to be against some magical rules."

"_Actually, interestingly, it isn't," _Karl said wickedly. _"The only real rules for magic come from the fairies, who say that if you're not smart enough to block magical mind-reading, you deserve it."_

"I don't know what you two are talking about, but stop arguing," Iriana said, folding her arms and giving Faidn a pointed look. Listening to even one side of the conversation was enough to tell that it was far from cordial. She paused and looked around at the dungeon anxiously. It seemed less cold all of a sudden. She wondered if her mind was playing with her, hesitating before asking: "Is it just me, or did it get warmer in here?"

"Warmer?" Faidn said, bringing his mind back to the dungeon.

It was warmer. It was still just as dark and wet, but the air was less chilly than it had been a moment before.

"_Enter the beasties," _Karl said. _"Make sure Iriana knows that I warned you, and you decided arguing was a better use of my time than figuring out the spell."_

"Hughes is setting magical creatures on us, I think," Faidn said, disregarding the last part of Karl's statement.

Iriana had the feeling that she was not hearing the entirety of Karl's messages. However, the appearance of possibly dangerous magical creatures was more pressing. The thought of danger was having a remarkable effect on her ability to think, too.

"How do we get rid of them?" she asked, a little nervously. "And what kind of creatures?"

"_Like any other creature," _Karl said. _"And I don't know. Whatever Hughes feels like. Something potentially fatal."_

Faidn relayed this information to Iriana, then posed a question of his own.

"So, if we die here—"

Iriana stiffened perceptibly, and Faidn almost put a hand on her arm to reassure her, then stopped himself at the last moment.

"_You'll die out there, too," _Karl replied."_In your case, you're here in body and spirit. In hers, the body can't live without the spirit. And hey, don't be afraid to show her how you feel. If you get out of there alive, you're going to marry her, you know. I think you've got a license to show some affection."_

"Stop prodding around," Faidn said warningly, his stomach clenching. He _really _did not like that Karl could know what he was feeling.

"_You're the one practically screaming in here about how beautiful her eyes—"_

"What did he say?" Iriana asked, unintentionally drowning out the rest of Karl's statement and biting her lip.

Faidn hesitated. Karl sighed loudly.

"We'll die if we die here," he said, meeting her eyes. Which were very pretty, even in the forbiddingly dark hallway. "But we're going to beat them."

Iriana smiled shakily. She looked very pale and completely unequipped for any sort of battle. Faidn wanted to keep her from ever looking this haunted again; he vowed in his mind that he would get them out of this alive.

"_Isn't that sweet," _Karl quipped. _"You should probably take a look at the monster before you say that."_

"If we break the spell, we're out. Right?" Faidn asked.

"_Right."_

"How do we break the spell?"

Karl hesitated, and Iriana heard a footstep in the darkness: a loud, heavy footstep, followed by an echoing scrape. She looked at Faidn, who didn't seem to have noticed anything.

"Uh, Faidn..." Iriana said, trying to get his attention away from whatever Karl was saying. "I hear something."

Faidn drew his sword without hesitation and looked where Iriana was looking. The passage was still dark, but there was a soft noise coming their direction. It was distorted by echoes and distance, however, so he couldn't identify what it was.

"_I'm feeling out the webs of the spells now," _Karl said shortly. _"It's slow going, though. He put enough precautions on here to strangle a Philettin king. You'll just have to stay alive until I find something. Hopefully that will happen before either one of our dueling wizards is defeated. You both will be stuck here forever if that happens."_

"Stop talking, then!" Faidn cried, thinking of the explosive battle he'd left behind. It was hard to believe either one of them would survive for very long.

"_If you would stop talking, I would be able to concentrate," _Karl snapped. _"It's hard enough to think with all your errant emotions tripping around like toddlers at a picnic."_

"Hurry!_"_

Iriana jumped at Faidn's sudden exclamations._ I wish I could hear Karl, too_, she thought with slight impatience. She didn't like having to wait for Faidn to translate Karl's messages. Then, she remembered what hearing Karl would entail and reconsidered. _Perhaps... not,_ she thought, realizing what Karl could potentially hear and discover in her woozy mind. Like the fact that the only thing she really wanted right now was Faidn's arms around her again and his head resting on hers. Her heartbeat quickened and she shook her head, trying to dispel the thought with difficulty. Her legs were considering rebellion; they were about to propel her towards him against the better advice of her brain.

"What is it?" Iriana asked, hoping that using her voice would keep her body from acting crazily. She heard the noise again and was suddenly on edge. The shuffling was getting closer; shadows were moving.

"Karl's going to figure out the spell, and we need to stay alive," Faidn translated to Iriana.

"Right. Stay alive," she said, nodding firmly.

Despite this display of determination, the next sound from the passage made her jump. It sounded suspiciously like a horse's snort, but larger. Faidn and Iriana heard scraping like metal on stone, and heavy footfalls that crunched the stone floors. Whatever the creature was, it was very large; its breath echoed in the dungeon in a whispering growl. Iriana and Faidn stepped closer together, Faidn's blade glinting in front of them both, just as one massive foot entered into a pool of dazed light.

Iriana realized with a bolt of fear that the creature was much too large for such a small space; they were going to be crushed before they even had a chance to fight.

Vivid white scales and silver claws were all they saw of the foot before the world turned upside down.

* * *

**And... another cliffy. I think that's one of Cadmus's new favorite things. So, any thoughts?**

Pimpernel Princess**: Thanks! I love to see my characters improve, too. It's very rewarding. --smile-- Ah, I have far too much fun with Karl. That's probably why he makes his way into stories where he may or may not actually belong; I just like his rude comments and bad attitude. See Faidn in acion? Oh yes. Much action is to be had. I hope you enjoy it.**

Faylinn**: 34: D'oh. Yes. Wield. That's what I meant. --facepalm-- Shout out for you! Hm, you caught the slip of the tongue... good job. Well, I'm selfishly grateful for your snow/ice day, because I have missed your reviews. 35: Conversations with Karl sounds like it would be helplessly addicting for me to write. Perhaps I'd better not. --laugh!-- Hm, I might. He does seem to not be coming across spectacularly well, which is a bit sad, because I have a soft spot for the poor boy. Er, man. o.O It was odd to write him, because we see him at three different stages of life in three different parts of the story. I always kinda think of him as the boy running through the grass with Rose... before he had to grow up altogether too fast. --sigh-- But anyway.**

Captain Fantastic**: Heh, I love Karl. I do. It's probably bad of me, but he's one of my very favorite characters to write. And I loved that line, too – I'm so glad someone else thought it was clever. --laugh-- And I love Derwin, too! But in a totally different way. More of a stray-puppy sort of way. --chuckle-- He's been through quite a lot. But then, so has Rose. --grin-- Ugh! I wish I could figure out how to smooth it out! I'll probably just have to work with it a lot, and it'll eventually begin to look better. Is this update better, time-wise? (And I'll have your chapter back to you later this evening.)**

**Reviewers get a scoop of ice cream – two for speculating!**


	37. Spellbound

**27 . 1 . 09**

**So, next chapter is the last chapter. I'm not sure how I feel about that.  
**

**Warning: POV switches happen. I'm really sorry, **Faylinn**, but I couldn't think of how else to make the fast-paced battle scenes work. We need to hear from both of them, but I couldn't full-stop and have a switch. Please don't kill me.**

* * *

The topsy-turvy-ness lasted only for a moment or two, then they were standing in a brightly lit field. They both squinted in the sudden harsh light, Iriana grabbing Faidn's arm for balance. The grass was ravenously green and wild, and the sky was unnaturally blue. More than the uncanny scenery, however, they noticed the beast in front of them. The foot they had glimpsed in the dungeon was barely a fraction of the enormous monster.

White scales covered the dragon's body from its flaring nose to its spiked tail. They glistened in the sun like a new snowfall, throwing spots in front of Faidn and Iriana's eyes. Long silver claws, five to a foot, curled from leonine paws: deadly weapons that made Faidn's sword seem like a toy. Wings of white membrane and bone were folded on its shoulders, and its back was smooth except for a line of small silver ridges that started at the back of its head and ended in the javelin-length spikes on its tail. Eyes like black ink glared at them from twenty feet in the air, and it opened its mouth heavenward in a roar that let forth a roll of flame.

"Oh, by the crown," Iriana whispered, her heart in her throat.

"_How did you get in a field?"_

"I thought you were working on the spell," Faidn muttered, his eyes on the bewildering enemy and his mind racing through all the possible options.

_Lure its head down to our level and find a weak point under its chin. Stab the eyes. Run underneath and drive the sword into its belly._

Iriana thought she was perfectly justified in taking another step closer to Faidn as he muttered snatches of ideas and sentences under his breath. She had the feeling that he didn't realize he was talking aloud. The dragon, after making its show of force, looked down at them and took a step forward. It inhaled the air above them, trying to decide what to do with these two small animals.

"_I was, but then I realized you weren't in the dungeon."_

"Maybe Hughes did it," Faidn said shortly. "I don't know. I'm a little busy here."

"Did what?" Iriana asked in a small voice, staring up at the monster, unable to take her eyes off of its deadly beauty.

"Got us into a field," Faidn said.

_Running underneath might be the best, but we might get stepped on._

"I thought the dungeon was a little small," Iriana said. "I thought of a field, and here we are."

She paused and realized that that explanation made no sense. She blushed; her mind was still not working properly in this odd dream-world.

"I—I'm sorry, that couldn't have had anythign to do with—" she stammered, but Faidn wasn't listening. Karl had made a surprised sort of noise in his mind.

"_Whoah, impressive," _Karl said, sounding impressed. _"_She's _got magical ability."_

"You did this?" Faidn asked Iriana, looking at her directly.

"I did?" she questioned back, her mouth going dry when she looked into his eyes. They were an even brighter green in this summery light than they had been indoors.

"_She did," _Karl said. _"I felt out some more of the spell-strings, and she's a regular puppeteer. I don't think Hughes meant to do that, but it could be very useful."_

"Karl says it was you," Faidn said, looking away from her and back to the snorting dragon. "Can you turn the dragon into a dog?" Faidn asked, a ludicrous but fair request.

"Uhhh," she said unsurely. "I can try."

Iriana screwed up her face as the dragon decided that their presence was not necessary and roared again, directing the flame to the right of them. The jet seared the side of Faidn's face and set the grass on fire instantly. Faidn hopped comically to the left to avoid the flames.

"Nothing," Iriana commented unnecessarily, opening her eyes again.

"_It's probably just the setting she can change," _Karl said, sounding distracted. He was still trying to figure out how to undo the larger spell. _"And maybe objects."_

"The setting," Faidn said shortly, seeing the dragon ready another bout of fire. "It's the setting and objects you can change. _Run!_"

He grabbed Iriana's arm and dragged her toward the dragon just as another spurt of flame burnt the ground where they had been standing. They felt the heat cascade over their heads in a melting wave as they stumbled away from the burning grass. Even in light of the fact that they were running _toward_ the deadly enemy instead of away from it, Iriana followed Faidn's lead without questioning, her face set in concentration. She trusted Faidn to know what he was doing.

The dragon started to wheel about to face them, but the two humans were much more agile than the scaly monster. They ducked underneath the dragon before it could turn and blast more fire at them, and Faidn thrust his sword confidently upward at the dragon's low-hanging belly. The scales on the underside looked flatter and softer than the white ones glazing the rest of the dragon's body, but Faidn's blade glanced away harmlessly. The underside was armored, too.

His weapon was useless.

They ran out from underneath the dragon, avoiding its massive feet which came close to crushing them a few times as the dragon stomped the grass, trying to find them. Iriana's mind was going a thousand miles a minute as she tried to think of ways to manipulate her newfound power; she barely realized that she was running for her life through grass that was incinerated right behind her.

She supposed she'd always had control of the world, ever since she'd entered in when she'd fallen asleep, though she didn't realize it at first, being tortured with memories of Cameron's death. She'd been creating her own prison. She grimaced at the thought, reverting to the situation at hand: setting and objects, Faidn had said, probably relayed from Karl. What exactly did that entail?

_Well, Faidn's blade didn't make a dent in the dragon's armor,_ she thought. _He needs a better weapon. That's as good a place to start as any._

They left the dragon's shadow with burning grass at their heels, and Iriana pictured a magical sword in her mind. It was similar to the blade Faidn was currently holding, though finer looking. She couldn't help her imagination; she liked pretty things. She furrowed her brow and imagined that such a blade wouldn't break, even under the fiercest pressure, and would cut through anything.

"What on—" Faidn exclaimed, almost tripping over the weapon that appeared in front of him.

Iriana grinned with new hope and cheered, grabbing the blade off the ground and waving it triumphantly. Faidn was slightly wary of her exuberance; she was likely to put an eye out with that well-crafted weapon.

"Yes!" she cried. "This is it! It's a blade that will cut through anything! Karl was right!"

Without any questions, Faidn sheathed his blade and accepted up the new one from Iriana's hand. He felt its balance and smiled; it was perfect. In size and weight, it was very similar to his old one, but it shone with a different sort of light. He noticed with a pause that there was intricate metalwork on the hilt and mahogany insets in the grip: unnecessary ornamentation. It didn't detract from the usefulness of the weapon, but it was unexpected. He looked at Iriana and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged and smiled.

The dragon took advantage of their pause and opened its scarlet mouth, inhaling the sunny air and blowing it out in a column of flame that they would not be able to avoid. Iriana quickly imagined shields that would block dragon's fire. They appeared in front of Faidn and Iriana, who held them up just in time to deflect the fire. The intense heat still sizzled their skin painfully, but the glowing metal and leather disks protected them from the brunt of the damage.

The dragon became bored with breathing fire from afar and began to walk towards them, its huge steps covering an enormous amount of ground. Its scales scintillated like diamonds of fire in the sunlight, a deadly, beautiful mountain.

"If I could just get at its head," Faidn muttered to himself.

Iriana thought again that he didn't realize he was speaking aloud. Nevertheless, two successes had made her much more comfortable with her power. _He wants at the head? s_he thought with a suppressed grin, _Then, up we go!_

"Hold on," she said, narrowing her eyes and envisioning the ground moving and growing beneath them.

In a moment, they were rising from the ground on a burgeoning pinnacle of earth that was taking them swiftly toward the dragon's looming head. Warm air whipped around their heads as they rose, blowing through Iriana's hair and twisting the locks into curls around her face. Faidn looked at her, and she turned to look at him, too.

His sword didn't work, so she got a new one. Fire came at them, so she imagined shields. He said he needed to get at the dragon's head, and she acted on his wish barely a moment after he'd made it. She wasn't cowering in fear behind him. She was scared – he could see that in the way she worried her bottom lip – _but who wouldn't be? She's fighting, too. The princess. _It occurred to him that he already knew she was different, but it was one thing to know it and quite another to have the proof laid out so clearly before his eyes.

As Iriana looked at Faidn, she smiled; his eyes said everything. She was surprising him. _Hopefully in a good way, _she thought, bringing the ground to a halt when they reached the level of the dragon's head. They were now far into the air – a fall from this distance would be deadly. Iriana swallowed and took a cautionary step back from the edge. The dragon shot another flame at them, but they were ready this time, shields blocking the blue-white fire. After two unsuccessful attacks, the monster was starting to get aggravated. It butted its head closer to them in order to investigate its impervious prey.

That's what Faidn had been waiting for. He dropped his heavy shield and jumped forward, bringing the sword down powerfully as close as he could to the creature's eyes. He only reached halfway up the dragon's muzzle, but the sword sliced through the scales and bone like they were cloth, rending a huge gash, and the monster roared again. Only Iriana diving towards Faidn with her shield saved him from being burnt to a crisp.

"Thanks," he gasped, feeling like his skin was going to crisp off if the dragon blew fire at them much more.

She didn't have time to respond before the dragon was coming at them again, this time with his mouth open. The already terrifying face of the dragon was now even more hideous, disfigured as it was by Faidn's blow. The part of its muzzle that Faidn had attacked was open and streaming blood, stark red against dazzling white. Tooth and bone were visible through the crimson.

Against this vision, Iriana didn't move, ready to throw up the shield again if it was needed. Her eyes were narrowed in determination, and she didn't waver as the gaping crimson mouth drew closer. She wasn't going to back down; she knew they could win.

"A spear," Faidn said, not taking his eyes off the advancing creature. He was calculating distances and weak points in his mind faster than he could truly comprehend them, but that's what battle was.

Iriana imagined a spear, and it appeared in front of Faidn. He grabbed it off the ground, feeling its weight with instinct. It was a little lighter than the spears he was accustomed to, but sturdier, made of a strange lightweight metal. _Perfect,_ he thought, adjusting his grip and waiting for the opportune moment. Iriana shifted her weight, guessing at his plan and being ready for her part.

When the mouth was only a few yards in front of him, he hefted the weapon and threw it at the roof of the monster's mouth. It lodged in the dragon's red skin, and Faidn almost didn't make it behind Iriana's shield before the dragon's screaming fire blasted him. When the inferno had passed, Faidn and Iriana looked out from behind the shield to assess the damage.

The dragon had forced the spear through the roof of its mouth and shaken it out, leaving a bloody hole where the tip had emerged, just shy of the monster's left eye. It was angry now, shooting another long burst of flame at Faidn and Iriana's heads as it came at them. They ducked behind the shields again, but if the flame kept up, Faidn would have no time to attack the monster or defend himself against another attack. The dragon could easily snap through the shields with its sharp teeth, if it got close enough.

Fire billowed over the top of the shields, bathing them in unbearable heat and replacing the daylight with an apocalyptic glow. Faidn glanced at Iriana and she imagined another spear for him before he could open his mouth to ask for one. He picked it up and listened beyond the crackling flames to determine how close the dragon was. It was almost upon them. It would have to stop the flames before it attacked in another way, but there would likely be only a very small window of time in which to stage a defensive attack.

_A few seconds at most, _he estimated, tensing and preparing to jump at the first opportunity. _I'll have to be very fast._

As soon as the flame stopped, he sprang from behind the shield, throwing the spear at the dragon's eye and taking a ferocious swipe at the dragon's muzzle with his sword. Iriana stood with the shield, watching the dragon for any sign of fire and being ready to throw the shield up in front of Faidn and herself once more.

Because the monster was so close, Faidn's reckless blade tore through the underside of its jaw, slicing through more bone and sending some scales shimmering to the ground. Blood streamed from the gash, and the dragon screamed, sending fire into the air at the pain in his jaw and his eye both; the spear had struck true. The monster was now half-blinded, flailing about in agony. The pain was soon replaced with anger, however.

Iriana blocked a burst of flame, but when the flame stopped, the dragon grabbed the shield in its teeth and tore it out of her hands, nearly yanking her off the edge of the pinnacle of earth. She stumbled and skidded, falling backward and landing heavily on her hands. She didn't bat an eye at the ferocious monster leering in front of her, but imagined another shield to take its place an instant before the next round of fire.

Faidn's heart was in his throat, even though Iriana managed to glance over and sort of smile at him under the golden glow of flame above their heads – to reassure him that she was alright. All he could think about was that Iriana had been a breath away from falling to her death, and he couldn't let that happen again.

_Not her,_ he thought, grinding his teeth and squeezing his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The dragon stopped breathing fire and lurched its head forward to attack once more. He didn't have time to think, his teeth still clenched against the vision of Iriana teetering on the edge of the earth; he catapulted from behind the shield and jumped onto the dragon's bloody muzzle. He then scrambled for a foothold and handhold on the shingle-like scales as the dragon tossed its head wildly about, and he almost slipped off before her found a secure place to lodge his hands and feet. The sword was still in his hand, though it nearly slipped free in all the jerking around. He managed to keep his precarious hold as the dragon shook its head violently, trying to dislodge him. When it became apparent that the dragon wouldn't stop moving, he just lifted his sword, almost being thrown off the dragon's head entirely when he stopped gripping with his right hand, and plunged it between the dragon's eyes and into its brain.

What Faidn had not considered in this plan was how he was going to get off the dragon's head after doing this. He came to that sudden, sickening realization as the dragon let out its first scream, blowing a burst of white-hot flame to the skies. Faidn, still trying to maintain his hold on the scales, felt the flesh of his hands sear under the sudden heat in the dragon's mouth, and the hole made by the sword allowed a tongue of flame to strain towards him, wishing to lick his arm softly but falling just short. He held to the sword that was lodged in the dragon's bone as his best chance of staying on, but even that was starting to loosen.

Thankfully, Iriana had been watching him fight, and she intervened. As the dragon began to scream and blow fire haphazardly in all directions, flailing its head in the throes of death, her thoughts raced through the best ways of getting him free. Faidn was holding on for dear life, but his grip was slipping as the sword began to come free of the monster's skull. Then, Iriana knew exactly what to do, and Faidn felt something wrap around his waist. He had no time to consider what it was, as he was concentrating on not flying off the dying monster, until he felt an incredible jerk and was torn free of the white scales and into the air.

He realized in a terrible second that a rope was around his waist, and that he wasn't falling freely through the battle-torn air. _Iriana, _he thought, and something in him swelled. In another moment, ground was lifting to meet him. Grass bumped against his knees gently, like a dog greeting him when he walked in the door. Vivid green grass caressed his hot and bleeding hands: comforting, caring. Kneeling on the elevated grass, Faidn glanced up to see the last of the dragon's death. It slumped to the ground, lifeless, blood staining and spotting its immaculate scales with gruesome red. There was a quiet rumble, and then more ground was lifting and melding with the two ledges Iriana had created, forming a bridge between the ledge Iriana was on and the ledge he was on. She ran over to him, eyes wide with triumph and a smile splashed on her burnt and tired features.

Battleweary, Faidn hadn't thought to smile. Seeing the infectious joy on her face, however, lifted his spirits and brought a grin to his face as well.

"We did it!" she cried, laughing and coming to a stop in front of him.

Her blonde hair was completely untamed with the heat, odd curls poking out in all directions and unlucky chunks of it singed by the dragon's flame. The pink of her face and unruliness of her hair made her eyes sizzle with incandescent blue.

"You did it," Faidn said as he stood, shaking his head and dismissing the credit. "That was... incredible. My sword was useless against that monster."

"My weapons would have been useless if you didn't know how to use them," she pointed out.

"_This is all very touching, but you're no closer to getting out," _Karl drawled.

"Yeah, how's that unraveling coming?" Faidn asked into the air.

Iriana bit her lip as she recalled Karl, remembering that the dragon wasn't the primary problem, but the spell that Karl was trying to sort out.

"_I think Hughes is keeping it hidden," _Karl said. _"Impressive, since he's having to split his energies between that and fighting Swana. I can't find anything at all. And their battle isn't going to last much longer. Try having her make some statements that Hughes would expect her never to say. Have her admit Hughes' superiority. Have her abdicate the throne. Disown her family. You know, the ordinary humiliation tactic."_

"He can't figure out the spell," Faidn said, looking back to Iriana. "He wants you to start saying things you would never say. Say Hughes is superior, abdicate your throne, and disown your family. And, I guess, anything else you can think of that Hughes might have wanted you to say."

Iriana made a pained face, but gritted her teeth and nodded.

"Hughes is superior to all other wizards. I hereby abdicate the throne of Grendath. I formally disown my family: past, present and future." She hesitated, then added: "My family isn't fit to rule."

Nothing changed. Iriana shuddered.

Below them, the dragon let out a last gurgling breath and finally died. White, red, green, and blue were all the colors that existed here.

"I feel very, very awful right now," she said, wincing and hugging herself.

"You didn't really mean it," Faidn said to her with a half-smile that might have been amused, but for the gravity of the situation. He then directed his next statement at Karl. "Any more ideas?"

"_Nothing."_

"So now what?"

"_This battle is about to be irrevocably over," _Karl said flatly. _"I suggest we all wrack our brains to think of any possible solution before you're both killed. Swana is defeating Hughes, and she'll have no choice than to destroy the book once she tears herself out. Which she will do inevitably only by my help, since she's all but completely drained of her own magic..."_

"Can't you think of anything?" Faidn said desperately.

He looked at Iriana, who had stepped toward him, anxiously waiting to hear what Karl had said. Her eyebrows had met above her worried eyes, and her arms looked like they were holding her together. Faidn relayed what Karl had said:

"Swana and Hughes's battle is about to finish, and we're going to die if we can't figure out how to break the spell. He can't find the key."

Iriana's mouth made an O for a moment, then she bit her lip again. Reliving all those memories, fighting the dragon – everything was about to be for naught. All of her imaginings of the future poured through her mind in an overwhelming cascade of pictures, feelings, hopes, and dreams. Tears pricked at her eyes.

"_Try some classic spell-breakers," _Karl said, but it didn't sound like he was holding out very much hope. _"You have maybe a minute."_

"Like what?" Faidn asked. He looked at Iriana; a tear slipped almost unnoticed down her face. At that moment, seeing her despair, he was ready to do anything Karl said.

"_Well, you can kiss her."_

Faidn froze, mouth coming open a little in surprise. He was suddenly bombarded with fairy-tale-endings.

_And the knight kissed the princess, and they all lived happily ever after._

"_That's the basic idea, yeah," _Karl said, obviously hearing his last thought.

"What is it?" Iriana asked, noticing his face.

Her voice was ringed with pleading desperation as she took another step toward him almost unconsciously and latched onto his arm. They were now only a few inches apart. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. The expression on his face was unreadable.

"_Hey," _Karl said with fake enthusiasm, _"at least you could go out with a bang if that doesn't work. Swana just won. Thirty seconds."_

Faidn agonized for less than a second. Iriana's eyes met his. Her eyes were the sky, and his were the grass.

"Sorry," Faidn said in a rush, then he put his hand behind Iriana's head and kissed her.

She made a noise like a yelp, jolting in surprise and freezing. But then, after just a heartbeat, the surprise melted and her eyes closed as she relaxed into the feeling of warm security. She grabbed a fistful of the front of his shirt and kissed him back, like it was the end of the world.

* * *

**And they all lived happily ever after! Or … died happily ever after. Whichever you prefer. --grin-- What are your thoughts, lovely readers?**

Faylinn**: Wow, a **_**long **_**review. Yeah, I'm not a fan of the new logo. Barf. There should be no floor, I agree. Except... I wanted him to find Iriana on the floor, crying, and I might have just been tired of writing long and complicated explanations of things that had little bearing on the actual story. Describing nothing was arduous enough without turning Faidn into a spaceman. --laugh!-- And... I just didn't think of it. Heh, I like gypsies too, but Faidn's had some bad experiences with them. Poor bloke. I won't lie – Karl in Faidn's head is my favorite part of that chapter. I'm glad you liked that part! You definitely could take that concept and make it be absolutely fabulous. Do it! Ahem, unfortunately I can't divulge that information. It's a SHOE thing. It's not terribly important, but once SHOE is finished, it's just another point to tie into. So, don't worry about it. Oh, Karl, how I love thee. ...I again apologize for the POV switching in this chapter. Don't kill me. --hides-- Haha! Faidn would gain lots of extra points for fighting a dragon upside down. --adds to the to-do list; Faidn looks on in despair-- Yes, development, development... --headdesk-- Thank you!**

Captain Fantastic**: Well, it was a dragon, so you win. --grin-- It would be hysterical to watch it happening with someone else, but I'm pretty sure if I had someone that rude and biting inside my head all the time, I would end up punching myself in the head. No joke. It would be a very bad experience. --laugh-- A little fairy-tale-esque, yes... I do try. After all, I **_**am **_**in the Fairy Tales section. Heh heh...**

Mazkeraide**: Happy almost-birthday! "I am an expert speculator (either that, or I just threw enough spaghetti at the wall and some of it stuck)." I'll just say... I agree. LOL. Yeah, there for a second, Karl was a moderately-decent human being. And now he's not so much anymore. Ah, well. I would probably knock myself unconscious, too. Argh. Karl. I love him, but I don't want to ever personally interact with anyone like him. Heh. I toyed with the idea of Faidn waking her with a kiss in several different ways before I discarded the idea for this one. I feel like Faidn needs to do something other than have a pair of lips to win his lady, you know? But, as you see, that doesn't mean I eradicated the kiss altogether. --wink-- Yeah, just a normal dragon. No wyverns. I'd not even heard of them until your review.**

Pimpernel Princess**: Heehee, I'm glad you liked that. --smile-- And I totally agree! Oh, Karl... Heh, well, as you can see, Faidn decided to go for it after all, even with Karl watching. --grin-- Ha, I liked that line, too. Karl cracks me up.**

**Reviewers get a new book. What do you want?**


	38. Loose Endings

**9 . 2 . 10**

**Last chapter! Ahh!**

* * *

It might have been the end of the world, except for the fact that everything then went black, and Faidn found himself a moment later in the sickroom, on his back on the floor. He stared up at the ceiling, unable to comprehend everything that had happened in the last hour. Everything he had just experienced could not have actually happened. It just wasn't possible.

"Iriana!" Lilliana screamed when Iriana sat up on the bed, disoriented, and Faidn had to sit up very quickly to avoid having his head trampled by the overjoyed princess.

Nre was right behind her daughter, rushing to her friend's side. Rare tears glistened in her eyes as she sat on the bed and embraced Iriana, who was starting to cry in relief. Faidn stood up, blinking a little against the vertigo, and looked over at the reuniting group, a funny feeling in his stomach.

"You made it," Carvin said, coming up behind him.

Faidn tore his eyes from the girls and looked at his friend. He realized with a jolt that Carvin looked younger than he had in years. His eyes were shining with relief.

"I guess I did," Faidn muttered, looking down at himself, as if to reassure himself that he hadn't _actually _died. "I mean, it seems that way, huh?"

"And you saved Iriana," Carvin said, grinning.

"It was... Karl," Faidn said with difficulty, not wanting to give up the credit for that, but unable to truthfully say it was him. He made up for this annoying fact by throwing a modifier onto the end of Karl's name. "The scallawag."

"Right, and I'm sure you had no part in it at all," Carvin said, chuckling.

"Well, maybe a little," Faidn allowed, remembering the kiss forcefully.

He felt lightheaded for a moment and put a hand on the foot of a bed to steady himself. Searing pain shot through his hand and he bit back a shout, pulling his hand back to look at it more closely.

"Ouch," Carvin said, joining his friend in examining the appendage.

It was red and puffy, and blisters were starting to form on the palm and fingers – from the heat of the dragon's scales. Small lacerations oozed blood and puss. Faidn was not impressed.

"Stupid overgrown flying newt," he grumbled, looking at his other hand and realizing that the damage was the same.

"How did this happen?" Carvin asked, looking at his friend's injuries in disbelief.

"A dragon," Faidn said without much thought, looking around the room for a cabinet that would have some sort of medical supplies in it.

He hadn't noticed the pain until he'd looked at it, and now his hands were killing him. He could feel every heartbeat in his fingers: agonizing pain.

"Oh, a dragon," Carvin said, adopting his friend's nonchalant tone and shrugging. "No big deal. Easy work for a mighty general like you."

Faidn couldn't help laughing at the obvious shock that lay beneath Carvin's words.

"Right," Faidn replied, nodding. "No problem at all, really. Iriana's a quick thinker, too."

He glanced over at her; she was reliving the battle in glorious detail to Lilliana, who was hanging on every word. Nre looked very pale. Carvin noticed his gaze.

"She helped?" he said, sounding a little surprised.

"I couldn't have done it without her," Faidn said honestly.

And, truthfully, he was alright with that.

"Well," Carvin said, raising his eyebrows. "It sounds like you two are a good team."

"Yeah, I think we are," Faidn said, knowing that Carvin was talking about more than the dragon. "I need her." He paused, then added: "I also need something to put on my hands, before I cut them off."

Carvin laughed, waving him over to the cupboard by the door. As they got closer to the door, Faidn turned his gaze to Swana and Karl, who were by the door. She was kneeling at Karl's side, her forehead on the palm of his hand. He was in the middle of lecturing her, such a bizarre turn of events that Faidn wondered if he hadn't died after all.

"...you that that was _stupid. _'Oh, there's enough magic!' you said, well, how'd that work out for you, child-wonder? You about killed yourself trying to get out of there."

"Don't pretend you care," Swana muttered tiredly. "And stop yelling. My head aches."

"Karl's been like this ever since you all went in," Carvin said in a voice just loud enough to be heard over Karl's strident tones.

He smeared some burn solution onto Faidn's hands; Faidn bit his tongue and closed his eyes, trying not to think about his hands. It was very easy to focus on Karl instead.

"_Your _head aches!" Karl shouted. "I'm the one who pulled _five people_ out of a blooming _enchanted object, _and then did half the work getting you out _again,_ since you about passed out."

"Karl, stop."

Carvin wrapped his hands in gauze and Faidn winced.

"Sorry," Carvin said apologetically. "Try asking Karl if he can make them any better – if he ever stops yelling at Swana."

"Yeah, I might," Faidn said, looking warily at the fiari and the sorceress. Carvin walked over to his wife and put his arm around her.

"No!" Karl said, furiously. "You're the one always yelling at me for doing stupid things, and now you went and did something absolutely _insane _and expect me to treat you like a human being? No! I will not respect you! I will not be kind! I will do whatever the—"

"She's asleep," Faidn said loudly, cutting off Karl's rampage.

Swana had indeed fallen asleep, her sweaty forehead resting against Karl's smooth hand. With a look of intense aggravation, Karl gently lowered her head to rest on his leg instead, but kept his hand on her head. Faidn assumed he was doing something magical, probably about her lack of magic that Karl had been grumbling about, but didn't ask. He walked over and sat beside Karl. The fiari's emotions were palpable in the air; his aggravation was ebbing sulkily.

"It worked," Karl said, his face brightening as he pulled his mind away from the infuriating sorceress. He turned to Faidn with a bit of a smug smile. "Although, if it hadn't worked, that would certainly have been a kiss to die to. You really have no mind control whatsoever. I was jealous."

"It did work," Faidn agreed, glancing up at Iriana; she was now hugging Carvin. He looked back to Karl, who was examining him with an odd look. "Jealous?"

"It was... pure," Karl said, hesitating on his words. "Very interesting, I suppose." He paused, then adopted his normal smirk and nudged Faidn. "It was my idea," he reminded him. "Don't forget that when you're happily married with two dozen children, living off in the wilderness someplace."

"Not the wilderness, the palace," Faidn said with a resigned look. He wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad one that he didn't mind living in a palace if it meant Iriana was going to be his wife.

"Well, I guess – if you want," Karl said, looking taken aback. "But since Iriana's no longer the heir to the throne..."

"Wait, she's not?" Faidn said, very confused.

"No," Karl said, raising his eyebrows with a superior air. "Did you miss that part of the spell? Whoever breaks the spell is the next ruler of Grendath."

Faidn vaguely recalled hearing something like that, but he hadn't really comprehended what that had meant at the time.

"So, I don't have to be prince-consort?" he said tentatively.

"By the left, no," Karl said, making an awful face. "And a great job you'd do mucking that one up, if you were. Iriana's a regular girl now. Or, will be, as soon as the spell takes effect and her parents come to the sudden and spontaneous realization that Swana would make a much better leader of their country."

"Swana?" Faidn asked, frowning.

"It was Swana's wish that broke the story-spell," Karl said. "I've got the next ruler of Grendath curled up on my lap. Isn't that just precious."

His voice was not at all endearing as he recalled that he was angry at the woman. He nudged her head with an annoyed look.

"She should be waking up here in a few seconds. I'm giving her enough magic to raise a cat from the dead."

Faidn looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Figure of speech," Karl said, rolling his eyes. "She needs to wake up so I can keep yelling. After all these years of bondage, I owe her a nice long lecture before I hit the road."

"Hit the road?" Faidn asked.

Karl nodded, his face oddly emotionless, though Faidn supposed it was due to his exhaustion – physically, mentally, and magically.

"Reese finally used her last wish, and about time, too. I'm a free fairy now."

"Watch out world," Faidn muttered.

Karl gave him a glare, but it wasn't nearly as venomous as usual. He looked down at Swana, who was still peacefully asleep.

"A lecture isn't worth getting magic from actual trees," he finally decided. "Got a blanket?"

Faidn gingerly handed him a blanket that was on the floor, wincing at the pain that tore through his hands. Karl noticed the grimace and put the blanket down.

"Injuries from the dragon?" he asked, holding out a hand expectantly.

Faidn warily placed his hands in the fairy's. Karl closed his eyes and barely brushed his finger along Faidn's wounds. The skin grew together, and the swelling all but disappeared. Karl opened his eyes and grinned.

"I love flower-magic," he said with a self-absorbed air. "I can't usually do that, since I'm generally not supposed to take magic from flowers, who do a lot of self-healing. I take it from the trees, who much prefer to let their scars heal in time."

"Thanks," Faidn said, a bit against his better judgment.

The fairy grunted noncommittally, his attention back on the sleeping woman. He set Swana's head on the blanket on the floor with a strange amount of care; she slept on, oblivious. After a last long look at his former master, he stood up and looked around the room. No one paid him any mind, except Faidn, who stood beside him. Their relationship was odd and jilted, but Faidn still nodded at the fairy in farewell. Karl saluted, mockingly, and then left the room free of obligations and cares.

After a hesitant moment, Faidn walked over to Iriana's bed and sat next to her as she finished her story of their encounter with the dragon. He thought she was downplaying her involvement a bit, but she elbowed him whenever he tried to add comments.

"This is my story," she said firmly. "You can tell your version later."

"But no one will want to hear the same story again," he pointed out, thinking that this entire ordeal was a bit unfair.

"I will!" Lilliana shouted. "And Ceecee and Mittie haven't heard it at all."

"See?" Iriana said smugly, smiling at him.

He stuck his tongue out. Lilliana laughed.

"Anyway, back to the story," Iriana said, looking back to Lilliana and raising her eyebrows as if she was far above Faidn's silly interruptions.

Faidn rolled his eyes exagerratedly behind her back. Lilliana slapped her hand over her mouth to hide a giggle. Carvin snorted as Iriana turned around, a peeved look on her face.

"Do you _mind?_" she said, folding her arms.

He smiled innocently, and she couldn't help smiling back. He found that his head was fuzzy whenever she was around, but he decided that he didn't mind that very much. He allowed her to finish her story with minimal interruptions. When she finished, she sat back on the bed, and her shoulder rested against his. The fuzziness got fuzzier. He missed the next few lines of conversation, until Rose's name brought his attention back.

"Where is Rose now?" Iriana asked.

It seemed they had been filling her in on what had happened since she'd fallen asleep. His brain might have been inhibited longer than he'd thought. She was apparently bad for his mental capacities. He thought about that a moment, then settled more comfortably against her shoulder.

"She and Der—Aerin left before you returned," Nre said. "She took him on a tour of the castle, I think."

"I see how much she cares about me," Faidn grumbled, but not seriously. It was hard to be annoyed when the soft smell of daisies was floating around his head.

"She said she knew you'd make it out," Lilliana said, folding her arms. "But I didn't. Hughes is crazy. Was crazy."

She looked over at a small patch on the floor that was slightly blackened; wisps of ash and paper were all that was left of the book.

"So, it's over," Iriana said, looking around the small group for confirmation.

"Swana said it was," Carvin said, looking over toward the door, where the redhead had been sleeping.

She was gone.

"Yup, it's over," Faidn said, satisfied. Swana wouldn't have left if everything wasn't perfectly taken care of.

Lilliana clapped happily.

"And there's no mushy ending!" she cried, grinning.

Iriana spared the barest look at Faidn.

"No mushy ending," she said, smiling at Lilliana and chuckling.

* * *

_Iriana,_

_Your father and I have been doing a lot of thinking. We've decided that you're not suited to be the Queen of Grendath – something that I'm sure you realized long ago. We found an old law that states the King and Queen can appoint their successor if a suitable heir cannot be found. Do not worry; we have composed a very beautiful announcement that will not give you a bad name in any sense of the word._

_You may choose to remain as a princess in the court, or you may follow your husband (whom I still have heard nothing about, darling) wherever he may go. In whatever case, you do need to come home soon. I hated to deliver this news to you via letter. Only my assurance in the fact that you would not be devastated by the announcement, and may in fact be relieved by it, compelled me to write this letter. We can speak of this in more detail when you come home._

_Oh, we've chosen the enchantress, Swana, to be the next Queen. She's very highly esteemed by all the kings and queens of Ladyra, and an enchantress-queen should help re-establish Grendath's ties to the magical community. They've never been the same since that one wizard went missing shortly after your coronation, you know. It will just be better for everyone, I think, this way._

_If you can, bring the General with you when you come. These war-councils are over now, I should think. After Berensia joined the conflict and the entire thing was thrown to the wayside, the General should have plenty of time to make the journey. I don't think your father will hold it against him that Berensia joined on the opposite side of the war, but do warn him of your father's moods. _

_I will see you soon, dear._

_Your loving mother and queen,_

_Thyatira._

* * *

.

* * *

**So, I know that probably didn't wrap everything up as neatly as you would have liked. But, please think twice before you yell at me. After you think twice, go ahead. --readies self--**

Faylinn**: A great song for this story... o.O --laugh-- Yes, sorry. Some of them were worse than others, but I'm glad it didn't keep you from appreciating any of the other content, because I spent **_**quite **_**a bit of time on that chapter. Quite a bit. After this one? Hm, you'll have to see, now won't you? --grin and wink-- Rest assured, I don't think I'll stop writing anytime soon.**

Pimpernel Princess**: Thanks! I'm glad the switches worked out well for you. Yeah, some more description of Iriana's magic will probably come in on the rewrite – it was a little sketchy. I'm glad you liked the fairy-tale kiss! It was long in coming. --grin--**

Captain Fantastic**: Oo. I think you should do it more often; the review is oh-so-much longer and lovlier. --smile-- Ha! I knew you'd be happy that you completely called the dragon. Brava, **Captain**. Yeah, I had to defy it. That would be far too easy. And they also would have been covered in guts, which was not part of the plan. --laugh-- Yeh, description doesn't come naturally to me. --wince-- Duly noted. Whoohoo! – I'm glad the adjective did that. It was semi-purposeful. --grin-- Ssh, it gets skewered in a minute! --laugh-- Yay! I'm glad that line struck you. And yes – Karl, of course, couldn't let a sweet moment go untainted. And I'm also glad you liked the last line. Huzzah! Oh, fragmentation is alright; it was a lovely and long review, as I mentioned above, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Hm, it's interesting that that's considered more mature. I feel like I've used that before, only thinking of it as an alternative style as opposed to a "better" one. It's good to know that it **_**is **_**considered more advanced; perhaps I should delve into it a bit more. Though I would miss the wry comments only really available through reported thoughts... but ah, well. I'll come to some conclusion. Thank you for the tip! And, here's your book! --hands it over--**

Eva**: It's alright, I understand. You're a busy woman. I **_**was **_**wondering where you had gone, though; I was starting to think that you maybe had stopped reviewing, or worse, reading! But, I'm glad to know that you haven't. Oh! Really? You were holding your breath? --delighted laugh-- Well, the spider threads are the book's magic, reaching out to get her, to suck her into the book. Does that make sense? Hughes was trying to "rope her in" as it were, when she was outside the book – those were the spider threads. And they were the book's magic. Now, she's inside the book and using the book's magic, so she is kinda using the spider threads if you want to think of it like that – isn't it nice how she turned things around from being haunted by them to making use of them? Oh, I'm glad you've come to love Iriana; weren't you one of the readers who was saying at the beginning that Iriana was rather flat? Thank you so much for all your glowing comments!**

Mazkeraide**: You were the only one. You get points for that. --laugh-- (I enjoyed Avatar, but, then again, I went into it expecting a go-green-hippy-animal-rights type movie, so I was pleasantly surprised at the parts that weren't like that. And I liked the animation. O.O) Well, there's your ending! Take it or leave it. --grin-- I'm glad the POV switches worked for you; I just couldn't figure out any other way to make that whole scene flow, and be able to see into both of their heads, without it. Oh, Mazzie. Fine. Here's Fidoglio's latest book, **_**Blood and Rime. **_**Roderic found it frighteningly compelling. Enjoy.**

**So I'm not going to write a long and emotional note to you all, because I feel I probably do enough of those to last everyone the rest of their lives. Instead, I'm going to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, and an especial thanks to those of you who reviewed on a mostly-regular basis (**Faylinn**, **Eva**, **Captain**, **Mazzie**, **Pimpernell Princess**, and anyone else I forgot). All you reviewers get some gold stars for sticking with this story through **_**two **_**hiatuses. You guys make me a better writer, and I appreciate every bit of encouragement and constructive criticism I can get.**

**As for what I'm writing next... I've decided that Nasap's rewrite has finally come due. I'll be posting it as a separate story from the original, because I don't want to lose all of my thoughtful reviews. You should start seeing some movement in that venue soon, so keep your eyes open for something like "Not All Surprises Are Pleasant: Revisited." (Doesn't that just sound like the stuff of nightmares...)**

**Reviewers get a piece of end-of-fic cake!**


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